


Never Mind the Bollocks, Here's The Paranormal Pansies

by erikakathryn



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Stiles, M/M, Musician Castiel (Supernatural), Musician Dean Winchester, Musician Stiles Stilinski, Queer Punk Band AU, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Superwolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 41,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27910357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikakathryn/pseuds/erikakathryn
Summary: When Stiles (finally) got out of Beacon Hills, he hadn’t planned on staying away for long. Palo Alto was a good half-day drive away but he figured if he didn’t come back once a month he’d definitely be making the drive home for the holidays. If not Thanksgiving, then definitely the 4 weeks between fall and spring semesters. And maybe he’d get some hot spring break plans and miss that visit, but he figured at least he’d be back in May, and spend the summer howling at the moon with his best friend.He didn’t plan to be gone for four years.--The Queer Punk Band Superwolf AU that begged to be written during a week of quarantining.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Stiles Stilinski/Other(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been really into Punk DeanCas fics, so of course I had to write my own (but make it Superwolf).
> 
> They're a punk rock band, so there's swearing and sex and weed and rock and roll. There's implied sex but nothing is graphically described. Some self-medicating for ADHD in case that makes you squiggle. Rated M to be safe.
> 
> Per usual, I don't have a solid reference point for spn, and TW is pretty canon divergent after Season 2.
> 
> There's implied Stiles/Others throughout the fic, with some moments between Crowley/Stiles. It's brief and used as a plot device.

When Stiles (finally) got out of Beacon Hills, he hadn’t planned on staying away for long. Palo Alto was a good half-day drive away but he figured if he didn’t come back once a month he’d definitely be making the drive home for the holidays. If not Thanksgiving, then definitely the 4 weeks between fall and spring semesters. And maybe he’d get some hot spring break plans and miss that visit, but he figured at _least_ he’d be back in May, have a depressing mother’s day with his dad, try and get dad to celebrate father’s day by drinking a beer together (it hadn’t worked for the past two years but Stiles was sure third times the charm), and spend the summer howling at the moon with his best friend.

He didn’t plan to be gone for four years.

\--

He at least finally got to have that father’s day beer about a month after he finished his junior year.

“You got one summer left, and you’re planning on spending it on the road again?” John asked, looking at Stiles over the neck of his beer bottle.

“Don’t see why not,” Stiles shrugged, nursing his own beer. He ran a hand through his hair—grown out, spiked up, tips barely holding a hint of blue after growing out since his last stint on the road—out of nervous habit.

“Melissa asked about you when I told her I was driving down.” Stiles wondered if his dad learned how to imply a thousand words in one sentence from years of being a parent— _his_ parent—or if it came with his law enforcement training.

“Yeah?” Stiles asked, “They get the presents I sent up over the winter?” Just because Stiles hadn’t been back to visit didn’t mean he had stopped caring. He still played PC games with Scott, sending snapchats back and forth with Erica and Lydia, especially when he was changing his hair or getting new work added to the growing sleeve on his arm. Lydia would be meticulous as she reviewed his (growing talent) in hair coloring, while Erica would make bets about what his next tattoo would be. In turn, he sometimes got snaps from them, from Lydia’s dorm and then apartment while she studied at MIT across the country, or of Erica’s favorite (and least favorite) customers at the bookshop/coffee house she had (finally) been promoted to manager of. Isaac had started working at the coffee shop too, and Stiles got to witness his growing talent in creating phallic latte designs.

They never sent him snaps of the preserve, or the house they frequented in the woods, even though he knew they were spending just as much time there as their own homes. Three years later, and he was still marking the dates for full moons every month in every calendar he’s ever had. Just in case.

“They did,” John confirmed, “said the cookies were the best part. Wouldn’t let me have a damn one.” At that, he leveled Stiles with a glare before leaning back. “Who taught you to bake anyway? Last time you did that, I had the fire marshal calling me because you smoked out the entire house.”

“Gabe taught me last summer,” Stiles commented. “He’s the one with the long hair, from the photos I sent you?”

“The one you’re living with?” John asked, trying to place the name to the photos Stiles shoots his way every once in a while. Usually after he yells at him for not keeping him updated, badgering his son to at least let him know what he looked like god forbid he ends up on a wanted poster.

Stiles would remind his dad that, no, being a parttime drummer in a punk band didn’t make him a _criminal_ , jeeze, right before attaching several pictures in an email.

“No, that’s Sam.” Stiles shook his head, digging out his phone and opening up the band’s Instagram. Sam wasn’t in the band, but he’s the reason Stiles got connected with Dean in the first place, and by association with Castiel and then Gabriel. Gabriel wasn’t part of the band’s regular set, but he traveled with them over the summers and tagged along for a couple winter shows. It was well worth it, if only for the food he would make for them when they found themselves using their camping cooking set up or, on the rare occasion, in a rented house with a real kitchen.

Stiles’ thumb scrolled through some photos before landing on one from the last gig Stiles played, back during winter break when they drove down to Phoenix, Arizona. The guys were backstage with Castiel leaning on the arm of a couch, heavily slouched over Dean’s shoulder, a lazy grin on his face. Dean had an arm around Castiel, his other raised in the air, fingers folded to form horns while he stuck his tongue out at the camera, the stud in his tongue glinting under the flash of the camera. Stiles was twirling a drumstick in one hand, motion blurred in the photo, with his electric blue hair spiked. Sam’s head was thrown back, laughing at either Dean or Gabriel probably had said, sitting next to his brother. Gabriel was on an opposite armchair, leaning back with a piece of candy sticking out of his mouth, smirk clear on his expression.

“The one in the chair,” Stiles pointed, handing the phone over to his dad.

“Right,” John nodded, “The other guy’s brother.”

“Exactly.” Stiles agreed, leaning back. He scrolled back to the top of the page, where a new post caught his eye. It was one of their flyers, with some of their upcoming dates in southern California listed. He scrolled to the next image, where snaps of the different band members were cut together. He hadn’t thought about being part of a band in years, probably since he first started messing around with drumming only to find out Scott was completely tone deaf and had no chances of learning guitar, but he liked the group they had. They would rotate through players, depending on where in the country they were or the time of year. It made playing on the road while working on getting his degree fit together perfectly. “Look dad, we have some gigs later this month down here.”

John stared at Stiles for a moment before answering, “We both remember what happened last time I came to one of your shows, Stiles.”

“And I already told you, Dean didn’t _know_ you were out in the crowd. He wouldn’t have tried to suck Cas off if he knew there was an officer of the law in the building.”

“And I’ve told you, being a Sheriff shouldn’t be the only thing stopping that boy from dropping trout on stage.”

“The crowd loves it! I can’t control Dean’s sex drive! Something about the limelight gets those two going, especially when Cas is shredding on his axe.” Stiles shrugged, “Ticket sales always boom after one of their stunts anyway.”

“If you being part of this is about money—”

“It’s not, dad. I like playing. I like being on the road. And I like doing it with them.” Stiles and his dad had this conversation at least once or twice a year, especially right before Stiles was getting ready to hit the road again.

“How are you going to use that degree of yours once you graduate, kid? You should be doing an internship this summer, networking.” John questioned.

“Turns out Jess wants to spend some of the summer visiting family and Sam is going with before he starts his internship at a law firm. Means we’ll need someone to pick up some of the PR slack, keep our gigs booked and properly advertised.” Stiles grinned, leaning forward against the table. “Lucky for us, I’ve been studying communications and marketing for the last two years, and we both know my grades have been fan-freaking-tastic.”

“Wow, someone is putting their college fun on hold to spent time with their family?” John spoke with sarcasm clear in his voice, “Wish that could be said for more of you punks.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment, for one,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “and secondly, I don’t see what the big deal is. I see you, I talk to Scott, I make Dean’s List, I’ve maintained my academic scholarship every year so far. I earned my fun.”

“Just promise me you will come home sometime soon.”

“Sure dad, promise.”

\--

In Stiles’ defense, soon is not easy to operationally define. Time was just a theoretic construct built by humankind, and he figured he’d be back in Beacon Hills sooner, than, say, turning eighty.

(Lydia yelled at him over one of their rare video calls when he made this excuse, admonishing him for using her research into the mathematical constraints within the study of time to try and barter his way out of another argument with his dad. She continued yelling, saying if she could put her lab work on hold for a couple weeks a year to visit Beacon Hills, he could pull his big girl panties up and do the same.)

\--

Stiles was just as surprised as everyone else that his jeep had lasted throughout college, even with him trekking cross country to meet up with Dean and Castiel, hoisting their equipment into the back. He once questioned why Dean thought traveling their band in a vintage chevy was a good idea, but quickly learned not to try and rib the guy when it came to his car. Especially when Dean did most of the work on the jeep to keep her running. When they were in between gigs he got side jobs doing mechanic work in any of the many towns they hit, and damn if Stiles wasn’t impressed by the way the guy moved around an engine.

Apparently Castiel was too, if the way they eye-fucked each other during the work meant anything.

(Stiles knew Dean sometimes carried on the Winchester legacy, too, letting those leads guide him to the mechanic jobs more than the mechanic work led him to the _hunting_ ones, but he was never around long enough to actually witness the man in action.)

Hoisting his bag into the passenger seat, turning around to check that all of his drumming equipment was strapped down, Stiles sent a message off to Dean asking for the exact address of the motel they were staying in. The guys had been playing some shows up south of Portland while Sam and Stiles got through finals week. Most of their shows were up in Washington, with regular gigs in Seattle since that’s where Dean and Castiel’s apartment was, but they often had subletters when they hit the road. Stiles cursed being the drummer in a traveling band, as he often did, when he was packing up his equipment out of the shed him and Sam had converted in the back of the house they rented. He would never say the two weren’t smart, though – create a band that picks up members as they travel, with them being the lead guitarist and singer? With the heaviest equipment they had being a gig amp? Stiles envied them.

Dean, Castiel and Gabriel all came down to watch Sam, Jess and Stiles graduate. They left as quickly as they blew into town, sharing one more-tense-than-it-really-needed-to-be meal with Stiles’ dad, who had also traveled down for the occasion. Dean and Jess were planning on staying in the area while Sam continued working at the law firm he’d been with since his internship, before starting his grad program, but this time they were moving into their own place, so John had stayed around to help them pack up most of their things in the house. He asked Stiles where he was going next, but he still didn’t have an answer. He was still debating if he wanted to have purple or pink hair for the next show; he figured, worst case, he traveled in the jeep and toured with the guys until something better came up.

His dad did not like that answer.

Still, he stuck around, taping up boxes while he watched Sam and Stiles unmix their belongings and all of the items they had accumulated in three short years of living in the house. John was happy Stiles had met a nice enough guy his freshman year, that he had made friends easily, but damn if he didn’t wish Sam could’ve had a brother who was also pursuing law and didn’t live a vagabond life to pull his own son into.

John had traveled back to Beacon Hills after the week had come to a close. Jess and Sam were traveling down the coast to visit her family (“Again, she’s taking time off the band to see _family Stiles_ ”), so Stiles was meeting up with the boys on his own. He knew he was headed north, but didn’t realize where exactly until he finally plugged the address Dean sent him into his maps app.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” He stared down at his phone, glaring at the map to show him any other area. He fired off a text to Dean: _??????? wtf man_

Dean shot him a message back pretty quickly: _pay was too good to pass up dude. stop txting and get ur ass on the road we cant get the check wthout our #1 drummer_

Stiles huffed: _u say that to all ur drummers_

He took a screenshot of the map and forwarded it to Erica and Lydia over snapchat, adding the caption: _be happy im coming home_

\--

He really should’ve gotten Dean to upgrade the jeep to a better media hook up. His CD player barely worked, instead electing to use a cassette with an aux cord attached _with a lighting adapter attached_ to connect his phone to the speaker system, sound more distorted than right most days. It’s not his fault he didn’t know his phone was blowing up during the first three hours he spent on the road, catching the list of notifications only when he stopped to fuel up. Erica and Lydia had replied, as expected, but they apparently forwarded the message to the others. Including Scott. And his dad.

His dad’s message stuck out from the list: _youre going to come to the station and say hi to everyone BEFORE you dye that head of yours again. And you will not tell them where your show is I do not need my guys getting a full show from dean_

Please, like Dean would try anything with half a dozen local cops in the room.

(Besides the time when they were just outside of Vegas, when Dean used his microphone, Castiel’s guitar, _and_ Cas to demonstrate the sexual undertones in the song’s lyrics. In his defense they all thought the dressed-up cops were dancers from the strip.)

(He really wished he hadn’t had to call his dad to get Dean out of a 24-hour holding cell because the man still hadn’t let it go and it had been almost a year.)

Stiles sat in the jeep, door swung open and feet resting on the side ledge as he continued scrolling. He liked his dad’s message, the blue thumbs up highlighting the message. He had a message from Scott with a picture attached. Looks like their band flyer was being reshared by the venue hosting their gig: _this u dude?? look at ur hair!!_

The flyer had been heavily edited, contrasting the dark venue the photos were shot in and the bright colors of their eclectic group, but Stiles had to admit it was a pretty stellar shot of him. His head was thrown back, lime green hair standing on end, muscles in his neck and shoulders tense. He figured it was a shot from their winter shows in Louisiana. For all the gigs they did up north, Dean and Cas loved taking winter shows in warmer states. Stiles remember it being hotter than hell, and he could see his shirt soaked through in the photo. Stiles looked quickly over the photo Scott had sent, looking to see if the name of the venue was listed, because Dean had this knack for just telling Stiles what town to show up in but never really telling him much beyond that.

Maybe he didn’t want Stiles bringing the cops to the shows, after all.

Before locking his phone to get his ass back on the road, he shot a message off to Dean: _u got a gig at a gay club wtf_

Dean messaged back: _jess got a gig at a gay club. shuddup and drive_

Stiles shut his door with a bang, heading back onto the highway. Just a couple more hours, and then he’d be with the guys. He could do this.

\--

It’s not like Stiles didn’t want his friends seeing him play. Erica followed the band’s Instagram, sharing photos and clips to her story’s, liking the supercuts of Stiles’ banging away on his drum set almost as much as she liked the photos of the band slutting it up on stage. Scott liked the ones he shared on his personal page. But, even with their gigs and shows available for literally anyone to see, they never tried to go to any of the gigs. This was the first time he had a show within less than two-hours of Beacon Hills, but it’s not like he was purposefully hiding the shows.

Sure, there was always a chance they’d see a show up in Portland, travel, and find out Stiles wasn’t the drummer for the night, but they could’ve still taken the risk. Stiles liked that about the way Jess ran their social media and did their marketing – their faces were rarely used, and if they were in a photo, it was usually heavily edited to make him indistinguishable from the other drummers they used. Dean and Castiel were the only ones recognizable across flyers and posters, but that was strategic—you remembered them after you saw a gig. You didn’t usually remember who was playing the bass line, or hitting cymbals in the back. On the rare chance the boys traveled to the Midwest, they’d grab a guy who played keyboard and did some stellar programming, and with just the three of them they’d have all of the sounds of a full band, with the rhythm and crash hits playing when the keyboardist pressed the right keys.

So, it was much better for them to advertise their front men and their sound, and not the actual members. Which meant anyone close to Stiles didn’t try to go to a show, unless Stiles told them about it first.

Which he had never done before now.

\--

Turns out, Jungle was looking to expand beyond their regular clientele and was testing out live bands that summer. Stiles didn’t think the club kid scene would ever go out of style, but they wanted to try and be _versatile_. Stiles’ would’ve bet good money on Beacon Hills having a shit punk scene.

He would have lost every damn cent.

Turns out that Beacon Hills was just far enough south of Portland and Seattle, and far enough north of any major city in California, that there were a lot of punk fans spread out between the two, itching for a place to go that wouldn’t cost them a day in travel. Jungle’s social media was blowing up, which led to the band’s Instagram blowing up, and Jess was messaging Stiles about their traffic increase while he walked the aisles of the local beauty store. She had a big family function starting soon and wanted him to take over their account, and asked if one of his _high school buddies_ could take over the live coverage while he played. She didn’t think this gig would blow up the way it was – none of them had – and when Sam reminded her Stiles was from the area, she all but begged him to make sure they got footage.

Hell had a higher chance of freezing over than Stiles had a chance of refusing Jess. He agreed, shooting off a message to Isaac (sighing when he saw the last message he sent the guy was from a year ago) asking if he still did photography on the side. Stiles looked back up at the wall of hair color, grabbing the magenta pink he had been eyeing since the winter, and quickly paid for it before heading back out to the jeep.

Stiles had left early enough in the morning that they still had a while before they needed to head to the venue to set up and do soundcheck. When he made it into the county, he called Castiel and explained he’d meet up with them after he paid his dad a visit. No, he did not want to pick them up, too, and no, he didn’t need the company.

Stiles pulled the door of the building open harder than he probably needed to, frowning when he looked at the person manning the front desk. He had no idea who they were. Stiles frowned harder, trying to remember a time when he _didn’t_ know the entire law enforcement team in town.

“Can I help you?” The guy looked up, eyeing Stiles warily. Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets, looking just as much like the delinquent drummer crowds loved him for being.

“I’m good,” he huffed, pushing past another door that led to his dad’s office.

“Hey, you can’t—” the guy stood up, trying to block Stiles’ access. Luckily for them both, John stepped out just as Stiles pulled on the door.

“Hey kid, you made it in one piece. No spontaneous combustion yet?” John asked. He nodded to the deputy at the desk, who wordlessly sat back down.

“No, but I give it 24-hours.” Stiles shrugged. “So, I came, I saw you, so if you’ll excuse me—”

“Not so fast,” John grabbed Stiles’ arm as he turned around. He glanced up at the clock, “Looks like it’s lunch time and I _know_ you wouldn’t mind coming with me.”

“Dad—”

“Nope, we’re doing this.” John’s grip on Stiles tightened.

Stiles sighed, “I have an hour, tops, before I need to head to the motel. My gear’s still in the jeep and I haven’t done my hair yet.”

“Not my fault.” John shrugged, letting go of Stiles so he could climb into the police cruiser. He took one last look at his jeep, sighing, before turning back to his dad. He could survive an hour with his dad, one of the most popular and identifiable members of the Beacon Hills community, no combustion side effects. Totally.

\--

“This is a bribe,” Stiles’ words were muffled around his burger, waving the food in the air to point at his dad with the half-eaten sandwich.

“A damn good bribe, at that.” John laughed, eating his own burger with a smile. “You forgot how good they were, didn’t you?”

“Voted best in the state ten years running,” Stiles grumbled, mostly to himself.

“I’m not the one who stayed away, kid. You could’ve been eating one of these every summer, every holiday—”

“Sure, but I didn’t.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “Give it up, dad.”

“Only if you tell me what your next plans are going to be.”

“I didn’t have an answer for you a week ago, what makes you think I’ve got it figured out now?”

“Just thinking, that lease on that house ends and come June, you’re going to need a home.” John shrugged.

“And what, you want me to move back here?” Stiles laughed at the thought. When John stayed quiet, Stiles looking from the window back to his dad. “Seriously? Hell no! The road is calling me, dad.”

“Sounds more like you’re chasing it,” John retorted.

“That’s not the worst thing, you know.” Stiles replied, “Dean and Sam lived on the road, traveling with their dad from the backseat of that damn car of his. His dad has only recently broken down and gotten a home with a real foundation. Sam’s the outlier in that family.”

“We’re not talking about the Winchesters, Stiles.” John remarked. “How their father wanted them to live has nothing to do with us.”

“This has been great, really,” Stiles wiped his hands on the napkin next to his plate, bringing the conversation to a close, “but I really do need to get going. When I have a forwarding address, you’ll be the first to know. But right now that is the least of my worries.” His phone chimed, and he sighed. Jess was checking in, asking if he was able to coordinate their media strategy for that evening. He thumbed through his messages, thankfully seeing a reply from Isaac. The dude was brief, sending a quick _yeah_ , but Stiles wasn’t going to argue it. He happily told Jess it was taken care of before looking back up at his dad. “Look, I’m even using my fancy degree right now.”

John sighed, “You could be doing PR marketing for any company, any brand, especially with that Stanford degree behind your name. I thought doing it for the band was only going to count as your internship.”

“And people tend to make careers out of their internships.” Stiles grinned. “Meet you at the car.”

Stiles walked out, leaning against the cruiser in the parking lot while he waited for his dad to wrap up and join him. He really should’ve fought to drive his car, but they both knew he would’ve driven in the opposite direction the second they were both behind the wheel. Stiles huffed, glaring in the sun as he looked through the windows of the diner to see what his dad was doing, when the sound of a throat clearing caught his attention. Stiles turned, glare falling away as he stared wide.

“Stiles.”

And the glare returned – it wasn’t even a question, more of a statement, devoid of any real emotion. Cold. Stiles could agree he probably deserved it, but, seriously? That was the best the guy could do?

Stiles replaced his glare with a harsh smile, “Derek, always a pleasure.” Thankfully, Stiles heard the beep of the cruiser unlocking as John exited the diner. John and Derek nodded at each other while Stiles threw himself into the car. He glared at the side mirror, watching Derek grow smaller in reflection as they pulled away.

“You and Derek talk?” Stiles asked harshly.

“Talk enough, like I do with every resident of the town.” John sighed. “You know—”

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope.” Stiles shook his head. “We are not having this conversation. We are going back to the station, I am driving to meet up with Cas and Dean, and after I color my hair hot fucking pink, I’m going to go bang my brains out on the drums.” He looked up at dad, “You got a problem with that?”

John sighed, turning into the parking lot. “No, kid, I guess I don’t.” He was still sitting behind the wheel when Stiles started climbing out. “Kid?” Stiles paused, but didn’t turn around, “You tell Dean the Sheriff will be in the audience tonight and no funny business, got it?”

Stiles grinned, “No promises!”

He climbed into the jeep, daring not to look at his dad before peeling out of the parking spot and back through town. Maybe he did have a pretty good idea for why he stayed away as long as he did, and maybe his dad knew more than he let on, but he couldn’t deny the adrenaline when he began thinking about who would all see him play tonight. Pointedly _not_ thinking about Derek among that list.

\--

“Lookin hot, man,” Dean’s voice rang out in the motel room, grinning from behind Castiel’s shoulder when Stiles emerged from the bathroom. He had grabbed some bleach and developer at the beauty store, lightening the ends of his hair before adding the magenta. The color was vibrant as all hell, a stark contrast against his brown roots and fair skin. Stiles grinned at the appraisal, turning to the mirror and picking up his phone. He fired a photo off to Erica and Lydia, adding Scott at the last second, line of text written on top of the image: _better see u fuckers tnght_

Lydia texted him outside of the app: _Do we get backstage passes for knowing the star drummer_

Stiles laughed, typing quickly back: _no but if u crowdsurf u can get on stage_

Stiles could almost hear Lydia’s voice in his head when he read her response: _and who will keep Erica from destroying the pit_

“You look happy,” Castiel commented. He was sitting in Dean’s lap, the both of them sitting in front of the small motel desk where Castiel had been leaning over the tabletop, staring closely at his reflection in the pocket mirror he traveled with. His eyes were darkened with smudged eyeliner, looking to Stiles before twisting in his seat to apply similar coloring to Dean.

“I did not think I’d be excited.” Stiles admitted, running a hand through his dried hair. They had enough time to get ready and head over to finish setting up at the club, having already dropped off their gear. He yanked open his duffel, pulling out the bag of stage supplies he kept separate for gigs. He started to drag gel through his hair, ends sticking up. “I thought you guys would’ve had to find a new drummer because I’d be passed out on the side of the road or some shit.”

“You really thought it’d be that bad?” Dean asked, eyebrows furrowed. He looked almost comical, with only one eye surrounded by the dark black charcoal.

Cas hummed, “We don’t play gigs down in Kansas, still.”

Dean huffed “That’s different and you know it.”

Enough trips on the road, sharing homes with Dean and Sam, and Stiles had heard this conversation plenty of times that he started to wonder if it was scripted. Stiles saw the influence Dean and Sam’s dad had on him, the way they lined salt across the entrance to every place they ever stayed. After a particularly bad trip, Dean was acting more paranoid than usual, and dumped an entire container in a circle around their tent. _Just to be safe_.

He never quite figured out how Castiel and Gabriel fit into the Winchester family, but the pair were so ingrained Stiles couldn’t imagine a story about Sam that didn’t feature either of them.

Looking back, bringing a Latin bestiary to translate on his downtime during his first year of college was probably not the smartest move, but it helped him and Sam break the ice. Knowing each other knew more than a skeptic about the supernatural allowed them to actually get to know each other without trying to hide their pasts. Stiles didn’t realize how hard that was going to be until he tried to make friends with their other floormates that year. It sucked then, but now, here he was, living a life not being dictated by the things that went bump in the night; instead, he got to direct his course. Even if that course was without direction.

Cas leaned back, eyeing his handiwork and adding more smudges to one eye to even out the look. “Is it? Sam travels with us, and he travels home. I will travel with Gabriel back home. But you never do.”

“And do what? Show up on my dad’s door?” Dean let out a bitter laugh. “No way, baby, I do not need that bullshit. I got you, the stage, and the open road.”

“Yes, you do, but it is nice to have a place to return to.” Castiel continued. He had reached around to grab the gel Stiles was using, running his fingers through Dean’s hair.

“Yeah, we have that up north.” Dean argued, letting Castiel’s hands turn his head. He closed his eyes, humming, as Cas started gently massaging around his temples when he was done. Castiel didn’t press the issue, instead turning to hand the gel back to Stiles.

“You know how long we got this gig run for?” Stiles asked, changing the topic as smoothly as one could. He’d been around long enough to know there was no winning when talking to Dean about his dad and Kansas.

“Nothing concrete until we hit the east coast in July.” Dean recalled. “Doesn’t mean Jess won’t schedule smaller, hole-in-the-wall shows along the coast, but no contracts besides this one and the next. Think she said somethin’ about this club could become a bigger stay, owner wants to see how tonight goes before signing on for more.”

“Looks like you’re going to have to leave them begging for more,” Castiel leaning forward in his perch on Dean, grin feral.

“About that—” Stiles pulled some other clothes out of his bag, kicking off his shoes, “Dad’s going to be in the crowd tonight.”

“He knows that never stops me, right?” Dean asked, eyebrows raised in amusement.

“Guess you’ll have to remind him.”

Dean barked out a laugh in response. Castiel stood, grabbing one of their bags and retrieved a small case. Dean took out his zippo, flicking the lid open and shut while Castiel finished pulling out one of the joints they had rolled before Stile got into town. Dean lit the end for Castiel, grinning when he shared the first pull by shotgunning with Dean. They grinning loosely at each other before Castiel turned towards Stiles, letting him take a couple deep hits before returning.

Stiles wondered sometimes if his dad’s issue with the band life was because he was a man of the law and didn’t want Stiles falling into some rock-and-roll cliché. It’s not like they were shooting up drugs and fucking through groupies after shows. He’s pretty sure Dean and Cas would probably still get into their sexualized performance without the benefit of weed loosening them up, because that’s just how they were, but he doubted his dad would get it. Hell, no one he knew smoked. His friends weren’t exactly _affected_ by regular alcohol or weed, and being the Sheriff’s kid meant everyone thought he was a narc in high school.

Stiles pulled on the rest of his clothes, turning to eye himself. It was pretty standard, and cheap to replace considering how much he sweated during shows and the unexplainable stains he usually found when everything dried. Plain, white tee, neckline deep enough he sometimes joked to himself that Derek’s uncle would even be jealous. He saved his black denim for shows, with the rips in the knees from one-too-many tumbles for shows, knowing they were comfortable enough for playing and tight enough his ass always looked good. He threw on his boots, same pair he wore when he made his way into town, and pulled some converted safety pins through the black tunnels he wore in his stretched lobes.

He had gotten his lobes pierced after a girl at one of Lydia’s parties said her cousin taught her how, during junior year of high school, and his dad had squinted at him funny but didn’t say a word. Huffed that it was better than a tattoo.

He did that senior year.

He didn’t get more tattoos, or start stretching the lobes, until college, though. He had seen Dean’s black plugs the first time Sam introduced them, when Dean and Cas came through California during winter break, and asked the guy how he did that. Dean dragged him to a local piercing shop and he left happily embarking on a new journey of body modification.

Sometimes, his dad would joke that at least he hadn’t gotten his tongue pierced, but would then get a look on his face, as if to say, _don’t do it now just because I said it_.

They barely spoke beyond those moments, though, with Stiles noticing when his dad’s eyes would linger a little bit longer when he wore short sleeves, and then when he pushed sweater sleeves up, eyes calculating as he catalogued the unspoken changes Stiles was making.

It’s not like his dad was an uptight asshole (like Dean called his), but he was constantly asking what Stiles was going to do _next_ , and knew enough business owners to know not everyone would willingly hire a dude with a head full of piercings and a body covered in ink.

Good thing Stiles had focused his comm. degree in music management.

Time moved slowly, and then all too quickly, as they finished the joint between the three of them. Stiles wondered if this was from the shop they stopped at in Colorado during spring break, or if Cas had gotten a new hook up in Washington. He catalogued strains the way some people organized loose tea, focusing more on them feeling good, relaxing, before shows, and less on getting fucked up.

Which was why Dean was drinking from his flask with a laugh—Stiles assumed it was whiskey, based on the smell on Dean’s breath when they passed each other cables and set up their equipment on the stage at Jungle. Dean would argue he didn’t drink to get fucked up, but the dude definitely liked being cross faded more often than not.

Stiles adjusted the mic stand that tilted to the side of the drum set before standing up to assess the placement. He moved around, sitting in his chair and banging out a couple beats. “Who did you guys get to play rhythm?”

“Crowley came down,” Castiel pushed on his tuner pedal, picking at the strings on his guitar as he finetuned them. Stiles had done more shows with Crowley than he had without. The guy didn’t belong to any one band, playing with most any punk or alt groups, known for hosting killer jam sessions at his place in Portland. He could play guitar and bass, conveniently switching between the instruments depending on the gig.

Whereas Stiles didn’t advertise his performances, his own Instagram posts few and far between that people sometimes questioned his major in school, Crowley was geotagging every town and bar he played, letting people know where he was and what he was doing next. Didn’t hurt that the guy fit the image of a wayward rocker almost perfectly, too, even channeling _British Invasion_ vibes.

They were going to put on a damn good show tonight.

Realization hit Stiles as he swirled one drumstick in his hand before punching out a tight, hard beat. Shows had a tendency of either going really fucking good or becoming a shitstorm disaster, especially if playing in a new place that didn’t know their shtick, but crowds loved Crowley almost as much as they loved Dean and Castiel. They always got calls back to the venues where they hit the stage together, doors to the backstage crowded as people tried to make their way back to join them, or invite them to some other house party happening after. Sometimes they went, sometimes they stayed, and sometimes Stiles stayed and waited for Dean and Castiel to finish fucking before going.

Stiles looked up as Crowley entered the building, guitar case in one hand, his bass strapped to his back. He stepped onto the stage, unpacking and connecting his guitar to the amps already on the stage. “What kind of show are we expecting tonight?” He raised an eyebrow, looking expectantly to both Castiel and Stiles.

“A sold out one.” A voice called out from behind the bar.

“Well isn’t that nice,” Crowley grinned, pulling out his phone and scrolling, updating his social media story with the latest news.

Stiles looked up from his kit towards the bar, eyes squinting. “Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.”

The person standing behind the bar leaned against the counter lining the wall, arms crossed in front of his fitted black shirt. An eyebrow raised as Stiles jumped down from the stage and headed his way.

“Since when are you a _bartender_?”

“Since I got certified.”

“Ass.” Stiles huffed. “Fine, why are you a bartender at a gay club?”

“Tips are better.” The grin turned into a smirk, “Clientele, too.”

“Who is your friend?” Crowley asked, having stepped down the stage and joined Stiles at the bar. He grinned, leaning back with his hands tipped into his pockets. “And would he mind pouring some shots, on the house of course, to help get the star performers ready?”

Stiles bit out, “No,” at the same time that he said, “Derek.” He turned around, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the well before pouring two glasses.

“Well, I hope to share my thanks with you later,” Crowley grinned, nodding his head as he held up his shot. He looked expectantly at Stiles, snapping a looping video of the two of them for his Instagram as they downed the whiskey quickly.

Stiles’ eyes hadn’t left Derek’s as they drank, though, turning over the glass without pause.

Crowley had already started walking away, huffing about Stiles’ lack of social media presence and the opportunity being _wasted_ on him, to be seen by his half-million followers, while Stiles remained in his spot.

“Nice hair.” Derek commented, glancing at the spiked strands.

“Fuck you,” Stiles glared, turning and rejoining his bandmates.

“You have to ask nicer than _that_ , Stiles,” Crowley admonished him, glaring at where Dean had taken to sitting on the amp case he was plugged into.

Stiles was pretty sure his skin was getting closer to becoming the hue of his hair, but took a deep breath before heading to the backstage area they had been shown when they arrived. Their cases sat nestled against the wall. Stiles sat on the coffee table, pulling out his phone. While they rode over to the building (in a cab, thank you, no driving under the fluence, he _did_ know how to be a decent human being), Stiles had messaged with Isaac, explaining what they needed. Isaac had agreed, charging Stiles over venmo, complaining that exposure does not pay the bills. Stiles had reluctantly agreed. Plus, Isaac had actual camera equipment, not just a phone camera to snap from the crowd, like Jess often did for their smaller gigs.

Those photos, even when grainy with poor lighting, always did well on flyers, thanks to the style they preferred, but it was still nice to think they’d actually get some quality pictures out of it. Isaac could probably try and sell them to Jungle to use in their marketing too, if he was lucky.

As he was clearing his notifications on Instagram – a couple dozen new followers since Crowley tagged him – Stiles’ phone buzzed with a new text from Erica: _get ur ass to the bar_

So they knew Derek was a bartender, was a bartender _here_ , and while everyone and their mom (Melissa wished him safe travels while also yelling at him for not telling her himself) blew up his phone on his way back into town today, no one thought to mention he’d be spending the evening performing in front of the guy?

And they wondered why he didn’t come back home.

Assholes – all of them.

Castiel pushed into the room, “There are people looking for you.”

“No one looks for me,” Stiles grumbled, standing up. He liked the anonymity he had grown accustomed to on these gigs, getting to bang out his music, feel damn good about the crowd roaring in front of them, and then get to go home without any of the social pressure that people knew it was _him_ up there. Stiles sometimes thought he turned into a different guy when he was on stage. Nothing crazy, just more alive.

No fears or worries, just him and the music and the crowd.

Except now this crowd was yelling _his_ name.

“What the hell, Erica?” Stiles hollered, stepping back onto the stage. He was hoping it was just Erica and Lydia at the bar, early for the show. He hadn’t questioned how they got in early, but now figured it was because of Derek that they were all able to get tickets on such short notice.

It was like a goddamn high school reunion.

“This is why I don’t go back to Kansas,” Dean huffed from where he sat, taking a hit off of the vape Castiel handed to him, face softening as he breathed out.

“I need this more than you,” Stiles pulled the pen out of Dean’s hands, taking a couple deep hits before handing it back to Castiel, mumbling thanks as he jumped down from the stage for a second time.

He barely got a word out before Erica and Lydia pulled him into a hug. He stared over their shoulders, catching Derek’s eye, who merely raised an eyebrow in response. Stiles pulled away, shoving his hands into his pockets to stop himself from nervously fidgeting. “So you, uh, all got tickets, I guess, huh?”

“Hell yeah, man,” Scott grinned, swiveled around in the barstool he sat on next to Allison.

“You guys know what these shows usually end up like, right?” Stiles questioned, eyeing his friends carefully.

“I am ready to fuck shit up, Stilinski,” Erica smirked, pounding her fist against her palm for emphasis. Boyd mirrored a similar expression on his face, standing coolly beside her. Stiles was impressed, actually, that she and Lydia had skipped the heels and worn harder boots. Maybe it was from years of getting clips of Stiles whining about bruised and broken toes after tussling in pits harder than he thought possible. Maybe they actually cared about the scene.

Stiles couldn’t stop himself from laughing, shaking his head at the sight of Melissa and his dad joining the group. He thought it was bad enough, seeing Erica, Lydia, Scott, Allison, Boyd, and Isaac shouting for him.

“Sheriff!” Dean yelled out from the stage. He had left the amp he was using as a seat, leaning on the bent arm of the microphone stand, a hand tugging Castiel close. “Just the man I wanted to see!”

“Glad to see you boys fully clothed.” John huffed, looking at the two for a longer second than necessary.

Stiles heard Scott whisper to Allison, “fully clothed?” just as Dean laughed, pulling Castiel into a nuzzling kiss before winking back at the Sheriff.

“Stiles,” John started, turning to the group at the bar.

“I warned him, dad, you can’t shoot the messenger.” Stiles held his hands up, shrugging.

“I can still arrest him.”

“I heard that!” Dean hollered over.

Before John could say much more, Isaac grabbed a bag from where it sat on the bar, interrupting them, “You want to talk specifics?”

“Definitely, c’mon, man,” Stiles nodded, leading Isaac to the front of the stage. “Most of our marketing is color-distorted and heavy vectors, which is why we like the crowd-perspective from phones.” Isaac nodded, pulling out his phone and taking a couple practice shots from different angles, assessing the quick compositions. Stiles pulled himself back onto the stage, lending out a hand to tug Isaac up. “We don’t feature anyone besides these two,” he nodded to where Cas was strumming on his guitar, pressing between different guitar pedals, with Dean nodding his head to the tune. “Traveling band, and all. But if this gig is sold out like Derek said, a couple crowd shots, from behind us could be good for us and the venue.”

Stiles walked Isaac around the perimeter of their set up. “Feel free to get up in Dean and Cas’s faces, Crowley too, but don’t be surprised if you get groped.” Isaac raised an eyebrow in question while pulling out his camera with the interchangeable lenses. “Watch for the cables, obviously, they get into it and go flying around the stage.” Isaac clicked a couple shots, moving between Stiles’ kit set up and looking at the photo review to assess the angle from where he shot. When he walked back over to Stiles, he continued, “I’m going to give you my phone, too. I’m logged into the band’s page, and without Jess here, we need someone to do the social media stuff too. Nothing crazy like Crowley, just some stories and tags and shit, try and get a good look at the pit when it gets going. People love those.”

The two talked more from on top of the stage in between Isaac’s test shots and review, confirming positioning preferences from Stiles before they hopped back down to the bar.

For as icy as Stiles had been to Derek since he got back into town, the man barely looked like it phased him. Stiles wondered if that came with being a bartender. He was mixing drinks, pouring beers for their friends, and soon time passed quickly enough that Stiles was back on the stage, drumming through a mix of their songs while Dean tested the acoustics and sound mixing. They didn’t practice outside of gig warmups, and sometimes they ended up jamming more than playing the written tracks, especially when Stiles got to play alongside Crowley, but the crowd ate it up. They let the energy of the group and the venue guide how they played – Jess always complained it made marketing their sound harder, but Stiles loved it. They couldn’t be captured on a CD, reproduced for mass consumption. You had to be there for the live performance, and every one after that, because no two were alike.

From the looks on the faces of everyone clustered at the bar, this gig was going to be just as fun.

\--

They were close to the end of their first set, which had turned into a clash of sound as Crowley started riffing off of the beat Stiles was punching out. Castiel had his own solo during the last song, having built his own momentum with Dean singing more to his flexing fingers as they moved quickly across the frets than the crowd. As Castiel’s fingers moved further down the neck of the guitar, Dean ripped the mic off of the stand, pulling the cable with him, bending to his knees on the floor, looking up at Castiel in near worship. Dean’s voice was raw, brash, yelling out the words as he gravitated closer to Castiel.

Castiel had held Dean’s gaze through it all, but Stiles was watching carefully from behind his kit. With a quick nod, Castiel had cut the chords in rapid succession, Stiles matching the pattern with every hit of his snare. The song ended, and Dean fell with his back to the ground, head tilted backwards so he saw the crowd upside down, a laughing grin adorning his features.

Stiles was distantly aware of Isaac snapping photos of the whole incident before Crowley strum the starting chord for the next song. Stiles bounced off of him, making brief eye contact before Crowley turned his attention to the crowd with his own sharp grin. Castiel had laughed, and when he put a hand out for Dean to grab, Dean pulled him down with him.

Stiles and Crowley had done this before, jamming together while the other two came back from the last one. The crowd seemed caught between bouncing to the harsh rhythm and heavy beat they were laying down and watching Dean and Cas. Dean had crawled over Cas, grinning when the crowd yelled louder. A quick whistle from the sides caught their attention through the haze of the performance, and Dean laughed louder. “Sorry, Sheriff,” he spoke lowly into the mic before digging his palm into Cas’s crotch and getting back to his feet. He helped pull Castiel up beside him, grabbing his ass when Cas turned back to his pedal board with a sharp wink.

At the mention of the Sheriff, the crowd grew louder, and while Stiles’ may have been imagining it from his position at the back of the stage, he could’ve sworn bodies started moving harder than before down front.

Castiel complimented Crowley’s chords when he started strumming again, adding a different distortion effect this time. Dean swung the cord from the mic as he moved across the stage, bending down and leaning into the crowd as he yelled and belted the words from the song that had queued up.

They ended in the familiar rhythm of the song, with Stiles hitting his kick drum with three sharp beats, as Dean bit into Castiel’s mouth, a sharp tug at Cas’s hair as they moved with more tongue and spit than any regular kiss. Cas tugged at Dean’s tongue, his stud clicking against his teeth as he pulled. They held their foreheads together, bent towards each other as Castiel let the final chord ring out.

Stiles and Crowley made their way backstage while Dean and Cas moved just far enough away that they were _mostly_ covered by an alcove leading the way back. Stiles drank from the available water bottles in the room, tossing one to Crowley before they both sat on the couch. He could hear the distant sounds of the radio playlist playing now that they were on break. “Thank fuck somebody actually changed the stereo speakers. For a second I thought we were going to get a disco club mix pounding through the walls next.”

“Derek did that,” Erica’s voice rang through the room.

“How the hell’d you get back here?” Stiles questioned. No one else was with her.

“Made nice with a local bartender, you know how it goes,” she winked, watching as Crowley moved towards the door she had just walked through.

“It seems everyone knows this bartender far better than I do,” he grinned, “Looks like I’m in need of more whiskey.”

Stiles rolled his eyes from his seat while Erica sat next to him.

“If this is what you’ve been doing instead of coming home, I can’t say I blame you.” Erica grinned, “That crowd is addicting.”

Stiles grinned back, “I’m glad you get it. Dad’s been around a couple times but just thinks it’s noise.”

Erica rolled her eyes, “If I didn’t have a shop to run I would almost consider chasing you guys cross-country.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” Dean’s voice rang out as he and Cas walked into the room, both grabbing waters from the table. Stiles barely noticed the change in their clothes, zippers half down and hair even more blown out than before. Him and Sam had become so desensitized to their fucking he barely acknowledged a change anymore. “You were kicking ass out in that crowd.”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a shrug, “Some people were born to kick ass. I was trained for it.” Erica winked at Stiles.

Castiel watched Erica for a moment before grinning, “You must be one of the wolves.”

Erica turned to Stiles quickly before looking back towards the other two.

“Don’t worry, they’re in the know,” Stiles waved a hand in the air. “Dean takes out ghosts, I ran with wolves. Cas has enough good luck it might as well be from a higher power, and I swear Crowley’s skills have to be from a crossroads deal.”

Dean grinned, “There’s a reason we go by the _Paranormal Pansies_.”

“Well shit.” Erica leaned back. “So you didn’t stay aware because of the pack?”

Stiles was stumped. He didn’t have a quick, clean answer for that. It was a dozen reasons, and then again, none at all. And he sure as hell didn’t have the brain power to properly figure out his thoughts right then and there.

Without comment, Stiles reached over to Cas and pulled his vape out of his back pocket, taking a couple hits before breathing out deeply.

Seeing she wasn’t going to get an answer, Erica caught onto Stiles’ avoidance and pulled him up to his feet with a sharp tug on his hand. “We miss and love you, batman, always.” She hugged him tightly before pulling back. She pulled at the end of his hair with a frown, “Does this make you Poison Ivy?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we had a genderbend performance.” Dean remarked from where he sat on the floor.

“ _Stiles_ ,” She hissed out, grinning, “Please tell me there are photos.”

“Video, too.” Dean looking up, tugging his phone out to toss to Erica, his photo app already open.

Stiles rolled his eyes – this was old news. Not only did they regularly play Halloween / Rocky Horror inspired gigs in the fall, with or without Stiles, but there was almost a straight year where Castiel wore predominantly skirts instead of pants. Dean made his joyous opinion of the change happily known, every day.

Erica had sent several of the photos to her phone from Dean’s before saving her number in his contacts. “Next time Stiles play a show with you guys and decides his friends don’t need to know about it, give a girl a ring, would you?” She handed the phone back over with a soft throw.

“Aye, aye, captain,” Dean solute’d from his place.

Castiel pulled Dean up from where he sat with a stretch of his arms, “We should stretch out before going back on stage.”

“Hell yeah we should,” Dean grinned with a smirk.

“Yoga, Dean, Cas is talking about _yoga_ ,” Stiles groaned from behind the hand he rubbed over his face. He reached up, stretching out his own back with a sharp crack before twisting the opposite direction. He caught Erica watching him, eying his clothes as they stretched over his torso. He raised an eyebrow in question.

Erica continued to look on with a shrug, “Nothing, you’ve just really grown up while you were gone, Ivy.” She grinned at the name.

“I’m gonna dye my hair back to green, just for that!” Stiles yelled at Erica’s back as she made her way out the room.

“I’ll call you Joker!” She yelled over her shoulder with a laugh.

Stiles turned back to Cas and Dean, watching as Cas pushed Dean’s back further into the stretching pose he had put himself in. He looked up at the ceiling before huffing another deep breath.

Halfway over. One more set, and then they were done, and he could go back to being the invisible drummer in the back, background to the electrifying performance their frontrunners put on every night.

\--

Crowley jumped onto the stage from the front instead of coming through the back like they had exited. Stiles looked at him over the top of his cymbals from where he sat at his kit. “You find the bartender?”

“I found someone to tend my bar, thank you,” Crowley smirked, running a hand through his own mess of hair before slinging his guitar over his shoulder. “It’s really a remarkable town you have here, Stiles.”

Stiles frowned. He knew Jungle had to have had more than just Derek tending bar – hell, he hoped so, judging by the size of the crowd – but Derek was the only one he’d been introduced to. And, okay, Crowley can fuck whoever he wants, and Derek can definitely fuck around with whoever he wants, but that didn’t mean he wanted to _know_ about it.

Crowley turned around to fiddle with the dial on the amp, catching Stiles’ eye again, “Relax. Derek told me no. I took out the barback.” Stiles let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

Well. Maybe Derek wasn’t sleeping around with random guys, then.

Or, at least he wasn’t with Crowley.

Dean yelling into the mic, telling the crowd to _get fucking bent_ , pulled him from his thoughts. He hit the down beat, hitting his drumsticks down in time with Castiel as he strummed the opening chords. His thoughts faded, and all he felt was the beat of the music, bouncing off his bandmates as they pulled through song after song.


	2. Chapter 2

_Freshman_ _Year_

“Dean, I told you I’m fine, I’m an adult, I can move into my dorm by myself.”

Stiles looked up at the sound of a voice at the doorway to the tight room. He had just arrived less than an hour ago, having driven the jeep down by himself. His dad was not happy that he couldn’t be there like they had planned, but trouble never sleeps in the spooky town of Beacon Hills. Besides, Stiles had reasoned with him, he’d be back up after he got settled in his classes, visiting before the month was over.

Turns out the guy at the door, who was probably his roommate, was in a similar situation. The guy tapped at his phone screen, ending the call with whoever _Dean_ was before pocketing the phone. They both looked at each other as the sound of the phone buzzing, vibrating in his pocket happened immediately after he shoved it away.

Stiles grinned. “Family?” He asked.

“Oh yeah. Older brother.” Sam tossed the bag on his shoulder onto the ground in front of the bed on the opposite side of the room from where Stiles stood. “You?”

“Just dad and me.” Stiles commented. “Called into work last minute, feels very upset to be missing this _groundbreaking_ moment.

“Dean, too.” Sam reached around and grabbed a second bag from the doorway that he was dropped when on the phone. “Got pulled into a job and is not happy that I flew in instead of letting him drive me.”

“Where you coming from?” Stiles asked, sitting on his bed. He had started unpacking his things, having already made the bed with the extra set of sheets he had at home.

“Kansas.” Sam grinned, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “You?”

“I’m actually from California.” Stiles shrugged, “Up north though.”

Sam nodded, looking up from the bag he had stood and opened on his desk, pulling some books out and lining the shelf. “What’s your major, dude? I’m Sam, by the way.”

“Stiles. Criminal justice, for now at least.”

“We haven’t even started yet.”

“Exactly, good time to switch before I end up with a bunch of credits that I can’t do anything with.” Stiles’ eyes watched the books Sam pulled out, trying to make out any of the titles from where he sat. “What major has you needing all those books for?”

“History,” Sam looked up from the last book he pulled out, “but I want to get into law school after.”

“Damn,” Stiles whistled low, “Seventeen years of school not enough for you?”

“You sound like my brother.” Sam grinned, “Says he hated it so bad he left early and got his GED so wouldn’t have to suffer one more day listening to the man.”

“What is he, some kind of hippie?” Stiles laughed.

“More like anarchist.” Sam shrugged. “With a lawyer brother. We’ll be a hit at family parties.”

Stiles grinned. This was going to be an _awesome_ year.

\--

“This is not awesome. This is the exact opposite of awesome. Horrible. The worst. Hate it.” Stiles babbled, groaning unhappily from where he was slumped on the floor. The sound of the door opening and thudding against the wall made him whine more, “Who the hell invited bigfoot to the party?”

He heard a short giggle, causing him to squeeze his eyes open with a wince. Sam looked even taller from down here. Was he the giant? “Are you the Big Friendly Giant?”

The giggle was louder this time.

He squinted harder, looking behind Sam and spotting a head of blonde curls. “ _Jess_ , you cannot be in the boy’s bathroom. Dishonor on you.”

“You grab one arm, I’m going to grab the other.” Sam directed, pulling Stiles up with Jess’s help. They half-dragged him over to a toilet stall.

Stiles muttered, “Dishonor on your cow, dishonor on your family,” words coming out jumbled as he rested his head on the cold metal of the door.

“What did you do to him?” Jess questioned from where they stood in the doorway.

“He found about a house party off campus and demanded we go.” Sam looked back down at Stiles. “Somebody wanted to go shot-for-shot with the upperclassmen.”

“I had to fight for our name! For our honor!” Stiles yelled out.

“Sure you did, man.” Sam patted Stiles’ back as he leaned over the toilet and dry heaved.

“You want me to stay?” Jess asked, brow furrowed.

Sam tossed her his dorm key, “Can you grab us some waters from the fridge? I’ll stay with him in here, make sure he doesn’t crack his head open or choke on his vomit.”

Stiles sat up, eyes wide, “Don’t touch my desk!”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Stilinski.” Jess frowned, pausing to look at Sam carefully for one more second before leaving the bathroom.

“What the hell, Stiles?”

“Big mean Latin books.” Stiles muttered, resting his head down again. “No good grumpy werewolves need translations. Can’t show you guys, though. No, no, no. Even if you know Latin better than me.” He looked back up at Sam, “Hey! Sam! Can you do me a favor? I need you to teach me Latin.”

Sam stared down at Stiles cautiously. He had lined their window with salt at Dean’s insistence, but had never brought up the topic with Stiles. He had seen some of the books Stiles kept, old books he always tossed aside when Sam walked into the room. But before now, the guy hadn’t made a sign of being aware of the supernatural.

“Why do you need to know Latin, Stiles?” Sam asked cautiously. It was true, one time he walked in while Stiles was muttering to himself in the dead language, and Sam had caught enough of a snippet that he repeated it in English, much to Stiles’ surprise. It was something they hadn’t brought up again, though.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he grumbled. “Grumpy werewolves need their translations.” Before he could say more, Stiles pulled himself over the rim and threw up.

Jess tossed the water bottles at his back before making a gagging sound. “I’ll wait in your room!” Her voice called down the hall.

It felt like hours had passed by the time Sam dragged Stiles back to their room. He had spit up onto his shirt and Sam sighed. He had changed his dad, and brother, enough times after they passed out, he didn’t think twice about switching Stiles out of his dirty shirt and into something clean. Stiles had fallen onto his bed, belly first, and when Sam pulled the shirt away, Jess and him both stared at the raised abrasions crossing over Stiles back.

Dean hadn’t been happy when Sam filled Jess in on their family business, claiming that he had only been in school barely three months, but when a girl asks about the weird tattoo you have and you forget things like _anti-possession_ aren’t common turns of phrase, he really couldn’t back pedal out of that one.

Even still, having briefed her on the things that go bump in the night, and after hearing Stiles ramble about werewolves, he really did not think this was going to be the proof he needed to confirm his theories.

Without a word, Sam quickly redressed Stiles, pushing his shoes and jeans off his bottoms before throwing the comforter over him. He rolled Stiles to his side, trash bin within spitting distance. He sat heavily down on his bed next to Jess, hands resting on his knees. “Fuck.”

\--

Stiles had woken with a shout, the light peeking through the blinds forcing him to audibly wince, and then yell when he moved and felt like a steam roller had driven over his entire body. Shouting made his head hurt, and he curled into a tighter ball from under his blanket.

He blinked slowly from under the protection of the blanket’s darkness.

How the _fuck_ did he get here?

Last thing he remembered was making a pyramid of the plastic shot glasses, shouting that his tower was taller than the other guy’s, watching Sam’s grin turn into a frown quickly. But that didn’t make sense. He had bestowed honor upon their meek little dorm! They were cool! What freshman could handle that much alcohol?

“Not you, that’s for damn sure.” Sam’s voice grumbled from the other side of his blanket cocoon.

Oh. Hangovers apparently turned off his filter.

“Yep. So does being blackout drunk.” Sam continued, tugging at the blanket Stiles was wrapped under. “C’mon, drink some water, Jess dropped off some aspirin this morning before she headed to work.”

“Bless you both.” Stiles grumbled, resurfacing with eyes barely squinted open to retrieve the offered items. After taking a second swig of the water, he stretched out his limbs and looked down.

Huh. His clothes were different.

“Nobody likes sleeping in jeans,” Sam offered as a reasoning at his confusion. “Your shirt had vomit on it, too.”

“Oh.” Stiles paused, processing what Sam had said. He fiddled with the shirt hem before looking back up, eyes wide. “Sam, this is going to sound crazy, but by any chance did I—”

“Yep.” Sam nodded, eyes looking back at Stiles without wavering.

“So I said—”

“Werewolves.”

“Uh huh.” Stiles paused. He could try and lie. But, he wasn’t sure if Sam had seen—

“How old’s the scar?”

Well.

Guess the wolf’s out of the bag.

\--

“So you’re a hunter,” Sam concluded after Stiles recounted how they took care of the wolf who left him with the marks across his back, right after graduating high school.

“Oh hell no.” Stiles shook his head vehemently.

“But you put the monster down.” Sam stated carefully.

“No, I took out the feral omega who caught the scent of the Alpha on me and decided the best way to get in on the hierarchy was by attacking _me_.”

“Okay, so there was a whole pack?”

“There is, yeah.” Stiles nodded.

“And you didn’t put them down, because…” Sam looked up at Stiles.

“Because you don’t kill your own pack, dude.” Stiles rolled his eyes before stopping.

“You’re human.” It wasn’t a question, and Stiles wasn’t sure why he was worrying about how exactly Sam was so firm in that regard.

“Yes, as noted by the bitchin’ scars I’ve got.” Stiles nodded, “Packs can have humans in them.” He paused, “Why do you know about all this?” Another breath, “Oh _fuck_ , you’re not a hunter, are you?”

Sam scratched the back of his head, “I mean—”

“But you’re so cool, dude!” Stiles stood up, ignoring the unpleasant _flip-flop_ he felt his stomach take at the sudden movement. He started pacing.

“Dad’s always been more of a hunter.” Sam leaned back on his hands from where he sat on his bed. “Dean, too, but he sticks to ghosts and ghouls.”

“And what about you?” Stiles stopped and looked at Sam.

“Mostly out of the business, unless Dean needs help. My Latin’s the best in the family.” Sam grinned.

“Of course it fucking is,” Stiles sighed, sitting back down, across from Sam. “Did I ask for your help translating last night?”

“Yep.” Sam nodded.

“Did you agree?”

“Does this mean we’re cool?” Sam asked cautiously.

“I guess so. You don’t hunt mine, I don’t hunt yours. You speak Latin, I don’t. Sounds like a good friendship to me.” Stiles grinned. “Can you please explain the salt obsession you’ve got going on, because I had a dozen theories but they all seem _dumb_ now.”

\--

The rest of the semester moved pretty smoothly from there. Sam helped translate the text, Stiles sent his notes over to Lydia for peer review because he was an _academic scholar_ , goddamnit, and then forwarded the final copies to Derek and Scott.

Scott always answered right away, with a thank you!!, thumbs up emoji, and saying he missed him.

Derek was silent.

Stiles tried not to let it affect him. He kept going to parties with Sam, sometimes Sam and Jess, and sometimes just Jess, flirting with mostly anyone who gave him a second glance. It was fun, getting to go out and actually act like a normal eighteen-year-old for once.

But then he’d hear some news about the pack through the grapevine, be reminded that Derek had iced him out since the summer, didn’t even bother to go to the going away party him and Lydia threw as the only pack members traveling for school.

It wasn’t fair, he decided. You risk your life a dozen times for a guy, repeatedly help him when it really doesn’t benefit you, and okay, so you tell the man maybe you were falling in love with the him and would he _please_ stop staring and actually kiss you, finally, thank you very fucking much, except, apparently you read the signals all wrong.

Stiles swore the rejection hurt more than the phantom claws he felt ripping his skin open anytime he moved too quickly.

\--

“You know, for as close as you say pack is, you haven’t left campus once.” Sam questioned. He and Stiles sat along a bar of stools facing a glass window in a local coffee shop, sipping at their warm drinks. Finals were starting soon and then it was winter break. Sam had already let the housing board know he wasn’t leaving over break, and had confirmed continued use of the dorm room. Stiles wondered if he could get away with staying back, too.

“I think being away has given me some perspective.” Stiles muttered. “If the Alpha doesn’t care I’m gone, is he even really my Alpha?”

Sam shrugged, “I might’ve translated the book with you, but you know those dynamics better than me.” His face brightened as he caught sight of two people walking down the block. “Besides, you’re more than welcome to spend the holiday with us.”

Dean stuck out his tongue in greeting, metallic stud catching the sun’s reflection before a second man tugged on his hand, pulling them to the entrance of the shop so they could greet Sam like normal people.

“Sammy!” Dean’s voice boomed, grabbing his brother up and out of his chair and into a tight hug. “Shit, kid, you actually look like a real grown up.”

“Thanks, I think.” Sam rubbed the back of his neck before pulling out of the hug. He leaned back against his stool. “This is my roommate, Stiles.”

“Heard you’re a hell of a partier,” Dean smirked, shaking hands with Stiles, letting out a laugh when Stiles’ fair skin slowly started to heat up. He wrapped an arm around the waist of the guy beside him, fingers looped through the back of his beltloops comfortably. “This is Cas.”

“Castiel,” He stated, looking at Stiles with a firm stare, holding out his own hand.

“It’s great to finally meet you guys,” Stiles shook his hand with a grin. He leaned against the counter from where he sat, “What I really wonder is if you guys can actually live up to the stories Sam’s been telling.”

“I like this one,” Dean looked from Stiles back to Sam. “He’s staying while we’re here, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes, “Yeah, Dean, he is.” He grinned at Stiles. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

\--

Dean and Castiel left Palo Alto just as they had arrived – loudly, and all too quickly.

Stiles was upset that his dad was upset that he missed the holidays, but Scott had told him his mom had the Sheriff over, and even exchanged gifts, so he felt his guilt lessen. But beyond that, he was happy he was able to spend the last couple of weeks with the two guys.

It’s not like Beacon Hills was sheltered or fit the small-town stereotypes, but it was a tight knit community. Everyone knew everyone, knew everyone’s business, and he saw how the town reacted when Erica had one little makeover. You had one look, one identity, and you were stuck with it for life, whether you liked it or not.

So to hear how Dean had rebelled from their dad, and continued on living his vagabond life with a guy he _clearly_ loved was kind of mind blowing. Okay, sure—werewolves, ghosts, the existence of the supernatural were also mind blowing. Nearly being ripped in half by one set of claws, mind blowing.

But this guy?

Stiles was equal parts awe inspired and jealous. 

And Sam couldn’t stop laughing about it.

“Man, he’s not that much older than us.” Sam rolled his eyes, “He lives by the skin of his teeth, floating from place to place, never putting roots down beyond Cas.”

“I know!” Stiles exclaimed. “Can you imagine doing that? Not having to answer to anyone but yourself?”

“Trust me, Stiles. Not having a permanent address is not all that it’s cracked up to be.” Sam frowned.

“Obviously, not when you’re a kid and trying to figure out your identity and shit.” Stiles shook his head, “But when it’s because you chose it, and are in pursuit of what _you_ want?” He smiled, “That’s cool.”

“I’ll be sure to tell Dean you said so.” Sam rolled his eyes.

“What? You can’t!”

“Then stop acting like some groupie, they’re so annoying.” Sam huffed, directing his attention back to his open text at his desk. The new semester hadn’t started yet, but syllabi were being posted, and Sam was getting a head start on his reading.

Stiles could’ve sworn he heard Jess whisper _Nerd_ on her way out earlier.

He took a seat at his own desk with a sigh. Sam had a point, though. It didn’t want to be some weirdo groupie. For all that he had seen back in Beacon Hills, Dean was this completely different type of guy. Hard, brash, mean looking, especially when he wore his lip ring and had his hair all spiked up and wore more punk than foreman clothes. But then he spoke, or was around Cas, and melted into a freaking teddy bear. He had as much pride in Sam as Stiles’ dad had in him, and could be as rough as he needed to get what he wanted, but was nothing but nice to Stiles.

Stiles paused. “You told Dean about the wolves, right?”

“Kind of,” Sam shrugged, “I told him you were in the know and liked to run naked under the moonlight. He said _bitching_ before walking away. If it’s not a ghoul, he doesn’t care. And he’s not going to go around and tell another hunter like our dad, so you’re fine.”

“Oh. Okay.” Stiles nodded, “That’s good to know.”

“He did ask if I had taken you to get an anti-possession tattoo yet.” Sam looking up from his computer.

“A what?” Stiles asked.

“Seriously? Dude,” Sam tugged down the collar of his shirt. “Keeps things from possessing you.”

“That happen a lot where you come from?”

“Enough that our dad had it tattooed on our bodies, yes Stiles.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Do you want one or not?”

“I guess so.” Stiles looking down, tracing the lines of the piece he had gotten his senior year of high school. It wasn’t anything cool that warded off evil, but for all the time he spent agonizing over the full moon, he figured he at least deserved some memento to remember the time by. He had the phases of the moon going down the line of the inside of his upper arm, the sting of the needle bruising the soft skin for days after he had gotten it.

“I’ll tell Dean.” Sam grinned, “I’m sure you’ll want him there.”

“Dude, I don’t have a crush on the guy,” Stiles yelled. Sam laughed, turning around in his chair, laughing harder at the face of sheer embarrassment on Stiles’ face.

\--

Twice in one month, and Stiles was headed to a shop with Dean, Cas and Sam. The first time, Dean was explaining how to start stretching his lobes after Stiles finally broached the topic. He had the tapers in his ears, slowly moving between the sizes like the professional had advised. This time around, they were headed to a local place that only did tattoos, with Dean having already drawn out the design on a piece of paper for the guy.

“Where you gonna get it?” Dean questioned.

“Same arm, I think.” Stiles thought about it. “Maybe someday I’ll have a whole sleeve going on.” He grinned at the idea.

“There’s the spirit,” Dean grinned, knocking shoulders with Stiles as they walked in.

\--

“Sammy, we picked up one more show out in San Fran before we head back home,” Dean’s voice was loud enough over the phone that Stiles could hear it from across their dorm room.

Castiel and Dean had been planning on leaving the city the previous day, but then a friend heard they were around and contacted them about doing one more basement gig before they hit the road. The guys were excited about the timing, happy to catch one more gig before leaving. Only, apparently there was an issue, since the guys they had found to play with them didn’t stay in the area after what they thought was their last show, and weren’t going to make it back in time.

“Cas said his brother can pick up bass for us, but Sammy,” Dean’s voice continued across the line, “What’s a band without a drummer?”

“Unless you expect me to mash a pot and pan together for an hour straight, I don’t know why you’re calling me for help.” Sam sighed, rolling his eyes at his brother’s melodrama when he caught Stiles’ eyes from across the room.

Stiles sat up, “Wait, Sam,”

“Hold on, Dean,” Sam quickly cut his brother off, ignoring his shouts in the background.

“I play the drums.”

“Is that Stiles?” Dean’s voice called out. “The drums? Didn’t I tell you there was something we liked about that kid, Sammy? Put him on the phone!” Sam tossed the phone across the room easily.

“Uh, yeah, hey Dean,” Stiles started.

“You play the drums man? Don’t even worry about having a kit, the gig is in the basement of a local bar and they have some soundstage shit already set up. They store the kit down there when their house band isn’t playing upstairs.” Dean was rambling, “Gabe is cool too. We’re known for being slice and dice and no finesse, it’ll be the best, man. What do ya think?”

“I don’t see why not.” Stiles shrugged.

“Awesome! I’ll text Sam the details to pass on to you.” Dean said through the line. “Give the phone back to the kid, would ya?”

Stiles tossed the phone back across the room.

“Yeah, yeah, I heard Dean,” Sam started after taking Dean off of speaker. “No, I am not going to give him the Dean Makeover Experience. You fuckers can do that.” He rolled his eyes, “Yes I’ll come to the show. I’ll bring Jess too. Bye Dean.” A pause, “Yeah, man, I love you too.”

“Don’t blame me when you regret this,” Sam said to Stiles when the line went dead.

\--

Stiles grinned at his reflection in the small, dark bathroom, tucked away under the stairs that led to the cramped space they would be playing in. Since moving to school, he had stopped cutting his hair, and while it was in a weird porcupine phase currently, the gel Castiel had given him made it look intentional for once. The gel dried with a colorful tint, making the tips of his hair glisten green under the harsh light. Stiles turned his head, eyeing the color. He wondered what he’d look like if his hair was actually green.

He grinned wider. Maybe next time.

Castiel showed him how to smudge eyeliner on before lining his own eyes. He turned and did it to Dean, too. Stiles had shrugged – he never thought to try make up before, but if it was the band’s look, he figured why not.

Dean had thrown an extra pair of boots at Stiles to change into, and told him to lose the extra layers. Besides looking every bit like the college freshman that he so clearly was, Dean reminded him it was going to get warm quickly.

When he left the bathroom, Gabriel tossed a pair of drumsticks to Stiles. He caught them easily enough, shoving one into his back pocket and twirling the other with his hand with a grin. He had met Castiel’s older brother when they all grabbed dinner earlier, laughing at the way the guy got under Castiel’s skin. It reminded him of the way he used to rib Scott. He wondered what his best friend would think if he saw him. Stiles tossed his phone back at Gabe, his snapchat app already pulled up, “C’mon, man, if this is my debut and curtain call, we gotta document it.”

Gabriel laughed, but snapped the photo anyway. Stiles eagerly looked at the image, the graffitied wall of the basement a sharp contrast to Stiles’ bright shirt and made up face. He added a quick caption – _everyone loves a drummer_ – before sending it off to several of the pack members. Erica replied quickly, having added several fire emojis around her head, a big grin on her face. A second came through from Scott, his brow knitted in confusion but a thumbs up and _rock on dude_ captioned. Stiles looked at Scott’s photo quickly before it disappeared, recognizing the background.

Erica and Scott were both at Derek’s.

He clicked his phone shut and took a deep breath. Something was happening with the pack that had them all gathered on a Thursday night nearing midnight, and no one had told him.

Sam had walked back downstairs with Jess in tow when they stopped and caught Stiles’ frowning. “What’s with the long face? You actually look like a star.”

“You really do pull it off surprisingly well,” Jess nodded.

“I think somethings going on with the pack.” He chewed on his bottom lip. “And no one told me.”

“Did you tell them about this?” Sam asked.

“I mean, not before now, but—”

“No buts.” Sam grinned. “C’mon, we need to find someone to take a photo of all of us. We’ll frame it to remember freshman year.”

Dean and Cas joined them shortly after, one of the venue managers trailing behind them with a frown. Apparently making out next to the front door was not good advertising for the show, despite what Dean thought.

They talked the manager into staying, and got him to take several photos for them. The whole group in front of the wall like Stiles’ first photo, then just the guys up on stage, and one final shot with Sam, Jess and Stiles squeezed together.

Stiles grinned down at the photo, thumbing through the likes he had on it. He had posted it to his Instagram quickly before hopping to sit on his stool behind the drums.

The others may have wolfy business, but he was going to blow the roof off of this joint. With a sharp grin, he pocketed his phone and banged out a couple beats before Castiel and Gabriel joined in. Dean jumped onto the stage, nearly shoving the head of the mic into his mouth as he yelling deeply. The small crowd of people yelled in response, getting closer to the platform to watch what they would do next.

\--

“We’re the _Paranormal Pansies_ , thank _you_ for getting wrecked with us!” Dean yelled to the room from where he stood on a chair he had hoisted onto the small platform. He threw the microphone to the ground before grabbing Castiel’s head, smashing their mouths together in a kiss that looked like more teeth than anything else. Cas’s hand still strum between their bodies, the final chords ringing in the air, as the crowd yelled louder in answer.

\--

“Holy _shit_ ,” Stiles breathed out.

They had taken a cab out of the city and to the diner near where Dean and Cas were staying. The next morning, Dean and Cas were checking out and hitting the road again, but for the time being, Sam, Jess and Stiles were going to crash with them before driving back to campus. Gabriel parted ways with them back in the city, saying he already had his own digs for the night. Dean whistled while Cas rolled his eyes, waving his brother goodbye before they had piled into their ride, Dean shifting so Cas sat on his lap, leaving Stiles trying not to crush Jess from where she was pressed against the window. Sam sat up front, bless his long limbs, and distracted the driver before he could say much more about the seating arrangements.

Stiles had stayed relatively quiet during the ride, fingers twitching where they tapped out rhythms against his denim-covered knees, closing his eyes and reliving the last couple of hours as best he could. He had finally looked up after they had been seated with menus and waters covering the table. He turned to Jess and Sam, “Did you guys catch any of that on your phones?”

“Hell yeah they did,” Dean grinned. “Jess is going to take over our management. First step is overhauling the social media.”

“Posting on reddit threads about shows is not enough to build an audience,” Jess said pointedly, in a tone that made Stiles think this was a discussion already had in the past.

“It’s worked so far,” Dean shrugged.

“We do make more money from our other jobs, still,” Castiel admitted. “Jess’s methods should help increase our value.”

“The value is already there,” Jess continued, “You just need to let people know _you’re_ here.”

Dean nodded, “Which is exactly why you took some killer shots tonight.”

Stiles pulled out his phone, navigating to Jess’s personal page and clicking through the stories she had posted. There were some wide shots of the crowd, close ups of Dean and Cas, and one where Stiles was reaming it out on the drums in the back.

If he didn’t know that was himself, he wouldn’t have recognized it.

“Holy shit,” Stiles repeated.

“I think we found our new favorite drummer.” Dean nodded in agreement.

\--

Stiles had tried bringing up the show to Scott over their next video call, but his best friend didn’t quite catch the enthusiasm that Stiles was sharing. He nodded, listening, but Stiles could tell something was off. When he tried to push it, Scott only shrugged off his concern.

Huh.

Sam may be right, he could be over-assuming and being paranoid, but something didn’t feel right this time around. Stiles decided not to push it, wanting to give Scott the benefit of the doubt and tell him on his own. He just hoped it would come out sooner than later.

“You coming home anytime soon?” Scott asked, his question cutting through Stiles’ thoughts. He had asked the question at least once every time they talked, almost more than his own dad asked about it. For the first time, though, Stiles was wondering if Scott was asking because they had something to hide, and not because they missed him.

And for the first time, Stiles answered truthfully. “Probably not, no.”

\--

The spring semester was half over when Stiles got a call from his dad. “Hey!” He answered, moving his phone to his other hand to adjust his backpack. He had only just thrown it across his shoulder while making his way across campus for his next class.

“Stiles,” The tone of his dad’s voice slowed him down.

“Whoa, what is it? What’s going on? Any, ya know, mystical spooky things?” Stiles questioned, his brain immediately trying to consider all of the different scenarios that could be making his dad call him.

“Nothing, kid, nothing’s going on here.” John sighed, “I heard from Melissa that you told Scott you’re not coming home.”

“Oh, yeah, I mean, I’m not.” Stiles scratched the back of his neck nervously. Scott had actually stopped asking about Stiles’ travel plans after they spoke in January, but with spring break coming up he cautiously asked after they were an hour into playing video games together, and Stiles had told Scott without pause, Nope, not for spring break, and probably not during the summer, either.

“And when were you going to tell me?”

“Right now?” Stiles questioned. Before his dad could interrupt him, he continued, “Sam found this house for rent, it’s a duplex style so we get the second floor and these other guys got the first floor. The lease starts in May, so we figured it was smarter to move in when we pack up the dorm instead of lugging it back home only to bring it all back to town. Rents kind of crap, so we were picking up work in the area. When school starts back up we won’t have as much time and Jess has an in at the local bookstore, got me the gig before I could even think about it, and it kind of just snowballed.”

“That is suspiciously very responsible of you, Stiles.”

“You can come down and visit! We’ll be piecing things together the first couple of months probably but it’s nice. We each have our own room, and I have a feeling Jess might end up staying here too if her house with the girls on her floor falls through, and then at least the rent would be cheaper, and—”

“Stiles,” his dad interrupted him. “Are you happy?”

Stiles looked across the stretch of grass in front of him, watching people weave through the mid-day cluster of bustling students as they made their ways in and out of buildings.

“Yeah, dad, I am.” With a sigh, John said his goodbyes. He couldn’t argue with a happy kid. 


	3. Chapter 3

_Summer Before College_

“I’m just saying, Derek, something’s gotta give, you know? We’ve literally been through hell and back and that has to mean something—”

“Stiles—”

“No, man, you have to let me get this out. There has to be a reason every big bad that comes through here tries to get to me first, when they want to get to you. That stupid omega figured out before you did and I’m sick and tired of ignoring it, and I mean it, Derek, I’m out of school, I’m as much of a legal, consenting adult as you are; get your ass over here and fucking _kiss_ me.”

Stiles was pacing around the living room in the rebuilt Hale house. He had been staring at Derek, eyes piercing, as he rambled, not letting Derek stop him from getting this out. He had been ignoring what seemed like the most obvious _thing_ since he first met Derek, and he was tired of playing stupid about it. Enough near-death encounters and he finally decided he was done playing the willfully ignorant damsel.

He knocked that omega’s head in with a wolfsbane dipped baseball bat before collapsing from shock, the pack finishing the job and getting him to the hospital before he bled out (which, according to Melissa, was apparently a risk).

He could take on an emotionally stunted Alpha.

“Get out, Stiles.” The tone in Derek’s voice, the look he was giving Stiles, had barely changed during Stiles speech. And fuck, it was a speech, wasn’t it? Who was he, some Elizabethan protagonist speaking to the sun and the stars about their twisted love fate?

Unlike a story, apparently his scene wasn’t going to close in a happy ending.

“Derek—”

“Leave, go home, see your dad, do _anything else_.” Derek had cut Stiles off and stepped closer, his glare narrowing in on Stiles.

Stiles breathed out, eyes watching Derek carefully. He was telling him to go, but kept stepping closer, neither breaking eye contact. He had played this game with Derek in the past and for once he wasn’t going to be the first to give in.

“You don’t want me to go,” Stiles countered.

“Yes, I do.” Derek refuted. Stiles could swear he could feel Derek’s breath ghosting over his own lips from how close they had gotten.

“Prove it.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed. In a second, he let out a sharp yell, twinges of pain from his back shooting up and down as Derek grabbed him by his elbow and walked him to the front door.

“ _Go._ ” Derek pushed Stiles through the opened door, shutting it behind him. Stiles heard the latch close as Derek turned the deadbolt. He took a deep breath, watching the door for several seconds before he realized, as the pain in his back faded to a dull ache like he had grown accustomed to since getting out of the hospital, that Derek had rejected him.

\--

Stiles had climbed into his jeep, driven back home, and made it up the stairs and into his bed without a word. He felt like his body was buzzing under his skin, itching to do something, but frozen in shock, replaying the moment of Derek shutting the door in his face over, and over, and over.

“That _dick_.” Stiles muttered to himself, pulling his phone out of his pocket. He had shot Scott a message, but his best friend said he was working a double shift at the vet clinic and wouldn’t be around for a round of games until the next night. Stiles considered who else he could call. Technically, all of his friends were packmates. And while they had all grown closer since sophomore year, he still wasn’t exactly buddy-buddy with pretty much anyone else.

While contemplating who, if anyone, he could call to drown his sorrows with, his phone pinged with a notification from Erica. It was a quick snap, her flipping off the coffee shop sign as it hung behind her, clearly ending her shift from the morning now that the lunch hour was over. They didn’t talk much, but their snap streak _was_ going on for almost a hundred days. He saw what Erica did to Isaac when he let their streak end.

Besides, she sent funny shit from work daily.

He flipped the camera mode to face himself, tilted the lens so only the top of his eyes and forehead were visible, adding the caption: _will keep streaks for ice cream_

A couple minutes went by, and Stiles kept his mind busy by scrolling through some of his saved reddit threads. If he avoided the conversation he had with Derek, then he wouldn’t have to face it. He was leaving at the end of the summer anyway, he could totally keep himself busy for the next two and a half months, it would be a piece of cake.

A second alert came through, with Erica replying. It was a shot of the ice cream freezer at the grocery store: _choose ur weapon_

Stiles laughed, taking a snap of his ceiling and adding several emojis of ice cream and cookies. He quickly typed out: _random dice roll_

After the years of fighting off the forces of evil and attempting to maintain some normalcy in their teenage lives, Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised by how well him and Erica got along, but then she did shit like this and it made him question most of everything. She had shoved a bag of frozen treats into the kitchen freezer, grabbing one pint and two spoons before making her way upstairs to join Stiles in his room. She threw the spoon onto his chest, forcing his body to make room for hers without pause. Stiles had wordlessly pulled out his computer and they watched B-Horror movies without a word spoken until they made it halfway through the second film.

“You going to tell me why I’m spending my afternoon eating ice cream and cuddling with you?” Erica asked, scoop of ice cream in her hand, one questioning eyebrow raised.

“We are not _cuddling_.”

Erica held Stiles’ gaze before glancing down at the way their bodies were lined up on the bed, sharing the blanket with the computer nestled on both of their laps, before looking back up at him.

“Okay, fine, we are cuddling.” Stiles frowned, pushing himself down further in his bed so his head laid on his pillow, looking up at the ceiling. “I did something stupid.”

“Duh,” Erica shrugged. “That’s nothing new.”

“Like, really stupid.”

“It was stupid to bait a feral omega into the woods. It was stupid to try and take down vengeful hunters on your own. It was stupid to—”

“I think I get the picture.” Stiles closed his eyes. “I told Derek to kiss me.”

Erica laughed, stopping only when Stiles’ expression hadn’t changed. “He kissed you, didn’t he?”

“No, Erica, he told me to get out.” Stiles pulled one of his pillows out from under his head, shoving it over his mouth and screaming, the sounds muffled by the cushion.

“After he kissed you.” Erica rolled her eyes.

Stiles drew the pillow back, holding Erica’s in a firm look, “No, Erica, he did not kiss me, he did not show any reciprocation of my feelings, and pulled me out the house before shutting the door in my face.”

“That _dick_.” Erica’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Stiles yelled back.

Erica pulled the tub of ice cream back from where she had put it on the shelf behind the bed. “C’mon, we got more where this came from.”

\--

Things didn’t get better, but they didn’t get worse. Stiles was still part of the pack group chat and was told about movie nights and pack meetings over the summer, Derek never once deleting his number from the threads when he would message everyone. Stiles always made sure to show up with at least one other pack member, avoiding being left in the room alone with Derek. Derek was apparently doing the same thing, leaving a room if Stiles walked into it and changing his course of direction. When they had to drive out to a warehouse where Boyd had scented some inconsistencies during border patrol, Derek made sure Stiles drove separately.

Besides Erica, and eventually Scott, no one knew the reason for the sudden shift between Derek and Stiles, and no one questioned it, but it was getting on Stiles’ very last nerves.

He was packing up one of his duffel bags, throwing clothes in haphazardly. He was planning on packing light for school, anyway, having already figured he’d be taking plenty of trips back home and it wasn’t like the weather was going to shift too drastically while he was away. Unlike Lydia, who had taken her acceptance into MIT as an excuse to purchase an entire winter wardrobe fit for the Northeast. His dad knocked on his doorframe, door open but alerting Stiles to his presence anyway.

“How’s it going, kid?”

“Almost done,” Stiles looking up after zipping the bag closed. “Figured I don’t need much the first month anyway.”

“You focus on your classes when you get down there, don’t stress out about being back here until Thanksgiving.” John grinned. “You forget anything and I can always ship it down.”

“Thanks, dad.” Stiles grinned back.

“You ready to head to Lydia’s soon?” John questioned. Lydia was leaving for school before Stiles, and wanted to throw one last pool party before they parted ways. The entire pack, some kids from school that Stiles barely recognized when Lydia listed their names, and their parents were all coming together.

“Hell yeah,” Stiles dropped his bag to the floor beside his desk. “I’m going to swing by and pick up Erica along the way. Meet you there?”

“You know, Stiles,” John leaned back against the doorframe, “You’ve been spending a lot of time with Erica this summer. You ready for what’s going to happen, you living so many hours away soon?”

“Whoa, dad, stop while you’re ahead,” Stiles shook his head, “She’s like, my best friend after Scott. No way is that a thing. Besides, Boyd and her have been an item since forever.”

“You sure?” John watched his son for a second longer before shrugging. “Could’ve fooled me, kid.”

“Hey!” Stiles shouted as his dad walked out and down the hallway. “Girls can be friends with guys without having sex! It’s the twenty-first century, dad!” His dad’s mocking grumbles were distantly heard as John continued back into the living room, the sound of his keys being taken off the hook by the door punctuating his movements.

It’s not like his dad didn’t know that Stiles was pretty ambivalent to gender, and honestly if he was going to question Stiles’ friendship with Erica why didn’t he question him for all the time he spent around the other guys in the pack?, but he barely dated during high school and he figured the Sheriff was worried about what that meant for Stiles. Honestly, he didn’t even realize something was up – besides everyone in the pack pretty well paired up already, it was hard getting to know someone outside of the group. Hard to get close to another person if you couldn’t be fully honest with them and everything.

And it’s not like the torch Stiles was carrying for Derek had burned out or anything.

\--

On some level, Stiles knew the party was going pretty damn well. He had thrown Scott onto his shoulders for a game of chicken against Boyd and Isaac, pretending to care when he joined his dad and Lydia’s when they debated on the best way to grill burgers, and laid out with one of Lydia’s floppy hats over his head when he joined her, Erica and Allison to sunbathe on some reclining chairs.

It didn’t stop him from glancing over by the back gate every time the sound of the lock clicking caught his attention, watching for who was arriving next. By the tenth time he had done it, Lydia had turned her head to face him from where she sat, sunglasses covering her eyes. “He’s not coming, Stiles.”

“What?” He muttered, glancing between Lydia, Erica and Allison carefully. “What are you talking about?”

Lydia laid back down with a huff, “I’m not whispering around a set of wolves that will hear us anyway, Stiles. Don’t play dumb, it’s not cute.”

“He told us he had some business to take care of up north with one of Peter’s old acquaintances,” Erica continued.

“And that couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” Stiles grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Lydia reached over and knocked his hands away, chastising him about uneven coloring. He rolled his eyes from under the hat.

\--

After most of the parents and kids from school cleared out, Scott and Allison pulled out two bottles from her large tote bag. Stiles eyed his best friend warily. Last time he tried drinking with Scott, he ended up shitfaced with Scott sober as a cucumber.

It wasn’t fun.

“I’ve only tested it out once, but I think I finally figured out a good balance of booze and wolfsbane.” Scott grinned, catching the attention of the other wolves sitting around the firepit.

Lydia walked down the steps from her porch to join them at the firepit with a pitcher and several cups stacked. “And for us who do not require aconite poisoning, we get margaritas.”

Stiles grinned. Maybe the night was looking up.

\--

It was _nice_. Stiles felt _nice_. His stomach was warm, his head felt warm, he felt like he was sitting on a cloud and not a lawn chair with slats that dug into his back. His eyes flicked open, taking in the sight of his friends around the backyard. They had played a couple rounds of _Never Have I Ever_ , which turned into them playing _Kings_ , and margaritas quickly turned into tequila shots, which turned into body shots, which turned into Boyd glaring at Stiles as he did a shot off of Erica and Lydia. He grinned, the wedge of a lime caught between his teeth from where he pulled it of Lydia’s mouth. The girls were laughing, hopping off the table where they had laid down. Stiles looked up to see Isaac had taken a snap of the event on his phone before tossing it back to Stiles. He gave a shrug at Stiles’ questioning look but laughed it off to go find Scott to get another cup of his booze.

Stiles’ eyes were bleary as he watched the looped video, saving it to his phone before clicking send and tapping at the list of available friends. It was pretty much everyone who was already here, but then he saw Derek’s name in his list, and stopped. He had totally forgotten about last winter, when Derek had finally broken down and gotten the app after pestering from both Stiles and Erica. He figured the guy would’ve deleted him by now. He grinned toothily, checking off Derek’s name, and sending the looping video to everyone at once.

He sat back in a chair next to the table, folding his arms over his stomach, phone faced down. He grinned, loose and wide, as he watched his friends across the open yard through half-lidded eyes. He yawned, leaning back and staring up at the barely-visible stars in the sky. It wasn’t long before he passed out.

\--

“Prada, get back in here,” Lydia’s voice yelled out, cutting through the silence that had enveloped the backyard. Stiles blinked his eyes open slowly, sitting up and groaning at the ache in his back from the angle he had been stuck in for who-knows-how-many-hours. He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked towards the back door and saw Lydia trying to get her dog inside. She caught his attention and grinned, “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Stiles groaned in response, covering his eyes with both arms.

Lydia’s laugh filled the air as the sound of the door shutting trailed behind her.

\--

The next time he woke up, it was to his phone vibrating on his chest. He groaned, accepting the call with barely a glance.

“Glad to hear you’re alive,” John’s voice was gruff over the line.

“He- _ey_ dad,” Stiles muttered, sitting up in the chair. He glanced at his phone, noticing it was still mid-morning. “I’m still at Lydia’s.”

“Obviously.” Stiles could imagine his dad was rolling his eyes at the comment. “We got one week left before we drive down to Palo Alto, try to make it home in time for us to have dinner together, you got it?”

“Anything for you, my number one man,” Stiles voice trailed off.

John laughed, “Yeah, yeah, kid.” He paused, “You kids have fun? Were safe?”

“Totally, dad, we even put all of our keys in a fishbowl and locked it under a cabinet.” Stiles grinned, “Nah, it was nice to just get to have some fun with everyone.”

“And no near-death experiences. I’m proud of you kids.” John added. And for once, Stiles knew he meant it. It’s not like the Sheriff approved of them drinking, or partying, things that Stiles was never really caught doing before either. But since becoming aware of the supernatural in their town during junior year, Stiles figured his dad was just happy they had a night that didn’t end in blood shed or an emergency room visit.

Stiles could share the sentiment.

He ended the call with his dad as he stood up, surveying the backyard. He could make out Allison and Scott laying on some deflated pool rafts on the grass, Erica curled up into Boyd. Isaac was seated in a chair across from Stiles at the table. He grabbed a bottle of water from one of the coolers that were left out from the party, walking into the home where he saw Lydia disappear to hours earlier, poking his head around. He took a seat at the island, scrolling through his phone briefly.

When he unlocked his phone, snapchat was still open, and he tried to remember what he had apparently sent to all ten of his contacts at 2:30 in the morning. No one had opened it, probably because they were all just as passed out as he was, except for Derek.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. Derek opened his message. He frowned, checking his snap stories and seeing he hadn’t shared it there.

He thumbed through to his saved stories and silently watched the looping clip that was timestamped with 2:29am, where he was apparently licking and lapping at both Erica and Lydia’s stomachs before retrieving the sliced fruit from their mouths.

Well.

At least it wasn’t a video of him dancing on the table or giving Scott a lap dance.

(Everyone swore they deleted the video evidence from the last New Years party, but Stiles had a feeling Erica was lying)

“Good morning, Stiles,” Lydia’s voice interrupted his momentary panic. She sat beside him at the kitchen island. “Have fun?”

He grinned back at her, “Didn’t know anything else was an option at a signature Lydia party.”

She rolled his eyes at his comment, but nodded anyway, “Glad you remembered.” She stood up, pulling a platter leftover from the party from the fridge to snack on, putting it down between them on the island counter.

“You scared?” He asked, looking up wide eyed.

“Honestly?” Lydia asked. “Somewhat. Then I remember how much we have done, how much we have seen, and it feels silly to be scared of moving across the country and becoming a person where no one has heard the name Lydia Martin before.”

Stiles nodded; he hadn’t really considered that. No one else from their graduating class was going to Stanford, and while it wasn’t as far as MIT, he hadn’t realized that this would be the first time in his life that he was going somewhere where people didn’t already know who he was. Didn’t already have him pigeon holed as the _Sheriff’s son_ , _casual troublemaker._

“It made it easier, didn’t it?” Stiles offered up, “People already had this idea about who we were, so we didn’t have to care what they thought while we ran around in the woods. Yeah, you had to keep up appearances, but that’s easier than telling everyone the truth.”

“Exactly.” She nodded. Lydia stood back up, walking towards the front foyer of her home before returning. “Derek dropped this off this morning.”

“What—” Stiles started, glancing up at Lydia wide eyed.

“He said to give it to you. Peter’s contact gave it to him last night and it’s in Latin.”

“Why isn’t he just giving it to you?” Stiles asked cautiously.

“Because, as I already told him, you need at least _two_ people competent in Latin in a pack, and I am not going to put my pursuit of higher-level education on hold just to be on his beck and call to read through any old book he sends my way.” She lifted her chin as she grinned. “I told him I would happily review your work when you were done, but he had to send it to you first.”

“I’m sure Derek loved that.” Stiles dropped his head to rest on his arms where they sat folded on the counter.

“He didn’t argue.” Lydia handed the large book over. “And if I were you, I would count that as a win.”

\--

For whatever game Lydia was trying to play at, it didn’t help much, anyway. It took him a couple months to get through the book with Sam’s help, and by the time he had, Scott had started distancing himself from Stiles, too, and Derek never mentioned the deal Lydia had struck with him.

After spending the start of the summer working at the book store with Jess before joining Dean and Cas for a couple shows near the tail end, he was just as surprised as Sam when they were back in town barely an hour when a package arrived for him at their new address, only to pull out another aged text, pages lined in handwritten Latin.

“That _bastard_ ,” Stiles grumbled, shoving a hand through his aquamarine-tinted hair, throwing the book on an end table while he went back to bring his bags in from the jeep. Him, and Sam and Jess, had spent the last three weeks traveling across the southern border, and he was happily still riding the high of actually being a drummer in a band, and then Derek, King of Dicks, reared his ugly head?

Fuck no.

\--

He translated the text. Because of course he still cared to know that the pack was doing okay, cares about what Erica, and Scott, and everyone else is getting up to. If the only way he could do that was by translating random things Derek sent his way, then he would suck it up and do it.

Getting through this text took considerably less time thanks to Sam’s Latin lessons, but between switching his major, starting higher level courses, trying to maintain the bookstore job with Jess it didn’t happen quite as quickly as apparently Derek wanted it.

Stiles had sent the document to Lydia for peer review, per usual, and when they forwarded it to Scott and Derek he got a one-word response from Derek. The first thing the guy had said to him in almost a year and a half: _finally._

“See if I ever fucking help that guy out again,” Stiles yelled as he sat heavily down on the couch beside Sam. He looked up from the book he was reading, looking at Stiles cautiously. Stiles rolled his eyes, “We translate two tomes from him, and what does he say in return? Do we get a thank you? I appreciate you taking the time to learn Latin on top of all your other school work? Hell no, Sam. We get _finally_. Who the hell says that?”

Stiles frowned as he popped back up, pacing in their small living room. “Next time that guy sends another package, tell Fedex they got the wrong guy, gotta Return to Sender that shit.” He walked out of the room, the sound of the refrigerator door opening and shutting loudly punctuating his words.

\--

“Hey, Stiles,” Sam’s voice called out. Stiles walked out of his room to see Sam standing in the doorway, large package in his hands and the sound of the delivery truck’s engine starting heard distantly from behind the closing front door. They had just gotten back from spending winter break down in Louisiana, Stiles’ hair a brighter hue of the aquamarine he had tried out over the summer. This time around, Jess helped him bleach the ends first.

“No!” Stiles yelled, “No, no, we talked about this.” He pulled the front door open, calling out to the delivery guy, arm waving the packaged book in the air.

Sam shrugged with a grin at the icy glare Stiles sent his way. “Don’t act like you don’t actually like finding out what’s in these books.” He grabbed the package from Stiles’ hands. “Besides, who said you had to send it back to him when we’re done with it anyway? We could build our own library.”

“I thought you were out of the business,” Stiles questioned, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t make for a cool coffee table book.” Sam’s eyes looked to where the other original-texts sat on their bookcase in the corner of the room. Stiles had to admit the guy had a point – people usually asked about the books, not believing when either of them said they were in old Latin, laughing at the absurdity of two guys having books that people couldn’t actually read on display.

The spring semester was starting, and Sam and Stiles got the book translated by spring break. Stiles sent the file off to Lydia, letting her know to do whatever the hell she wanted with it when she traveled back to Beacon Hills.

They were packing up for a second summer on the road when two more books arrived. Almost as if their mystery sender knew Stiles was about to be gone and if they wanted work done, they had to ship it before their mail got put on hold.

When Stiles colored his hair a fiery red this time, he would swear to anyone who asked that it was not inspired by a certain Alpha’s red eyes. As they made their way up the West Coast before heading towards Michigan for a set of gigs, Stiles mentioned his interest in getting more tattoos. By this point, it had started to become expected: before the first show of the season, Stiles dyed his hair a new color, and if they visited a town he hadn’t been in, before, tried to get a new piece to add to his growing collection. When they were in Seattle or areas Dean and Cas had played before, Dean sometimes recommended different shops or artists. Other times, he would walk in, ask if any apprentices needed practice, and would walk away having only needed to tip the artist, small pieces adding up to a larger scaled image going down his shoulder and upper arm.

As they drove through Grand Rapids, Stiles sketched out mini replications of the books currently sitting in his backpack. Sam laughed when he looked over and saw the images before turning his eyes back to the road, driving the jeep after Stiles’ six-hour turn had ended. “You serious?”

“Yeah. Maybe even get “ _King of Dicks_ ” in Latin under it.” Stiles grumbled, sketching out a banner under the two tomes.

\--

Just as August was starting, they had traveled back down to Louisiana, the heat of the summer making Stiles sweat even with the jeep’s air conditioning blasting. He had learned some towns and venues were the equivalent of a one-night stand for the guys, and then there were other venues that expected them back as naturally as the seasons changed. Down in Louisiana, where Dean’s buddy Benny lived, was one of those places. Several venues coordinated a gig schedule with Jess months in advance, and sometimes Stiles wondered if they booked the rest of their shows and travel plans around those ones.

Benny played several instruments, having jumped in as drummer before Stiles joined the group, primarily using different string instruments nowadays. Stiles didn’t think a banjo could be used to play hard, thrashing music, but then again, Benny could make almost any instrument do what he wanted the second his fingers touched it. He wondered if it was a vampire thing, or something uniquely _Benny_.

They had a night off between shows and were staying in an apartment above one of the venues for the two weeks they were in town. Gabriel had joined them mid-summer, playing bass in all of their sets. He had been spending the morning reminding the guys what actual food looked and tasted like, and all but forced Stiles to learn how to bake with him when he wouldn’t stop getting in his way to try and taste the dough between batches.

“Kid, I have a spoon, and I know how to use it,” Gabriel teased, raising the wooden utensil in question.

Stiles laughed, swiping a scoop of dough out of the forgotten bowl when Gabriel was turned, “I’d like to see you try.”

After a couple quick fake outs, Gabriel did manage to catch Stiles and swatted at his arm with the spoon just as the oven timer went out. “You’re lucky.”

“I know, I know, saved by the bell,” Stiles mumbled, wincing as he pulled up his sleeve to look at his arm. He had finally gotten the two books translated with Sam, and in celebration added the badge of the books with the Latin banner to his arm. He had just sent the saved files to Lydia that morning with an attached photo of his arm from the shop, before they wrapped it up, the solid lines of the piece standing apart from his older ink.

Stiles pulled out his phone, grinning when he saw Lydia had already replied. Apparently, she had forwarded the email, attachments and all, to Derek and Scott. Scott sent him a snapchat, face frowned in confusion and in the distant background Stiles could see Derek holding a similar expression as he stared down at his own phone.

Jess and Sam walked in just as they caught Stiles falling back on the couch, nearly crying as the sound of his laughter filled their temporary home.

\--

After leaving Louisiana, Gabe stayed with the band while they hit a couple more towns on their way back west. They had a couple gigs along the northern border of Texas before stopping at familiar towns in both New Mexico and Arizona. They played those shows back to back, barely leaving enough time to sleep and drive from one state to the next. By the time they had made it back to Palo Alto, they had one weekend left before the semester started. The bar where Stiles had played his first show back during freshman year routinely had them back to play the basement, but this summer Jess got them booked for the upstairs. Stiles figured it was a big deal, and he was pumped to get to go back, but he wasn’t sure everyone was on the same page.

“What do you mean we’re playing upstairs?” Dean questioned, looking at the printed flyer in his hand. Cas looked at it over his shoulder from where they sat together in Sam and Stiles’ living room.

“Our audience has grown,” Castiel remarked, threading his fingers through Dean’s hair, a calming gesture Stiles had come to recognize.

“And the pay is double,” Jess added, frowning at Dean with her arms crossed.

“That’s not our scene,” Dean huffed, “We’re the high-energy, screaming, bass-thumping, dirty basement band where you know you might see some shit go down but it’s too dark to tell who’s a boy and who’s a girl so get _fucked_ and fuck around.”

“You can do that on their other stage,” Jess reasoned.

“You can see the stage from the streets. No way are they gonna let us do our regular set.” Dean leaned back in his seat, frowning.

“The owners know who you guys are, if they were worried about getting a fine from the city they wouldn’t have agreed.” Sam added, Jess smiling at his support.

“The already signed a contract for you guys to do two more shows over winter break,” Jess added. “Paid half the fee in advance, and they’re scheduled right before the semester starts again so you can still do your Phoenix shows.”

“Fine.” Dean relented, “But don’t say I didn’t warn you guys if everything goes straight to hell.”

\--

It hadn’t.

Jess was right, as Stiles came to expect her to always be, and their band was a growing buzz amongst the punk scene, with more and more shows selling out. They needed larger venue space, and being there for the first gig of its type, Stiles was enthralled. He had been around for some doozy shows, with less than ten people present, but this one had _hundreds_. And they were all screaming their heads off in unison with Dean.

Stiles worked with Jess to make note of which towns, or venues, they played in that elicited increased social media traffic and positive impacts, with Jess mapping out their next summer tour schedule when the current one had just barely finished. She continued to book gigs for the guys to do while they were in school, and Dean and Cas continued to experience their routine basement gigs, but they hadn’t had one like the bar in San Fran until they returned during winter. Stiles knew their likelihood of drawing a larger crowd was pretty decent when they were in cities or close enough to universities, but they weren’t always guaranteed. Their winter show in Phoenix, Arizona was their regular platform stage, but the owner commented to Dean and Jess that he wanted to talk about contracting them for his second property, which, if Stiles overheard correctly, could fit three times the number of patrons.

It was safe to say with all of the work Stiles was doing with Jess in managing the band and their public image, and maintaining his stellar GPA, Stiles had forgotten about the pack.

Genuinely. He had the full moon circled in his calendar, but rather than waiting anxiously by his phone, he had barely realized an entire month had passed and what the silver marked circle on the calendar meant (red meant bills were due, blue was for his exams, green for Sam’s, and silver for supernatural fun).

He still got snaps from Erica, who refused to let their streak end even after so many years, and typed out art school-worthy critiques of the latte art Isaac sent him when he started picking up shifts with Erica. He particularly liked seeing mugs adorned with calla lilies and Isaac sneaking shots of unsuspecting patrons commenting on how _beautiful_ the flowers looked and they were so charmed to receive a drink that had so much care and thought put into it.

These ladies were drinking steamy hot vaginas and Stiles screenshotted every single one sent his way.

But things like that, they weren’t _were_ related. He didn’t get a late-night shot of Scott shoving Derek’s guts back into his stomach or anything. Or a close up of a wolfsbane flower in an attempt at being artistic. He got the same kind of shit most college kids sent each other, and it was so easy to forget his friends liked to howl at the moon.

He should’ve expected nothing less when Derek decided to rear his too-fucking-handsome head into the mix and drag Stiles’ metaphorical ass back into Beacon Hills (and yes, Jess, it was a handsome face, and no, there are no photos, because the man is a damn _recluse_ but trust and believe). Stiles was still reeling from the thrill of the limelight, having picked up two gigs with Dean and Cas during spring break when Sam pointed out a package that came for him while he was in class.

For a second, Stiles wondered if Derek remembered his birthday was coming up, but then he remembered that the guy was the _King of Dicks_ and hated celebrating birthdays (his own or others).

Sam tried not to laugh at Stiles’ reaction to the package, his own curiosity growing when they noticed a note was in the package this time.

_ Happy Birthday.  _

Huh. “Well I’ll be damned.” Stiles breathed aloud, taking the note and pinning it to the refrigerator. At Sam’s questioning look Stiles grinned, “It’s the Alpha’s first letter, it’s about as monumental as a baby’s first words or a kid’s first A+ on his spelling homework.” Sam laughed in response, watching as Stiles took a photo of the note on his fridge and captioned it with the very same sentence before firing it off to Erica and Lydia.

Erica found it funny. Lydia told him to be nicer.

Stiles rolled his eyes in response, because, honestly? He may have been an asshole before he met Derek, but now their assholery complimented each other and he was not going to change his stance on that because the guy actually wrote him two words on a half-shredded piece of paper.

With the amount of teaching Sam had done, and the amount of translating Stiles had to practice, he didn’t bother asking the guy for help for these ones. Both of them had semester-end projects coming up, then finals, and Stiles knew Sam was interviewing for internships and studying extra for the LSATs. Him and Jess had already told Dean they weren’t going to be around much that summer, and Stiles was thankful Jess spent so much time pre-planning their tours for that year. He meant it when he told Jess he was going to consider his work like an internship, giving it his all, because he really did need the work experience and he was glad to be doing it for something he loved.

It was easy for Stiles to forget about the box of books when all of these other deadlines were looming. And the note didn’t actually ask for him to translate, so Stiles figured he could totally say he thought they were a present and not a task if anyone asked.

But then Scott messaged him asking what the section on mermaids said in one of the texts and Stiles realized, well, fuck, guess they still needed him to work for them after all.

He was updating his resume, adding the internship with the band to his most recent work experience, and wondered if all of this free labor he gave Derek could count, too. He’d never be able to use the guy as a reference, but he had done hours of unpaid work for the guy, and if that didn’t shout _internship_ Stiles wasn’t sure what would.

He pulled out the book, quickly translated the part Scott needed, and begrudgingly added the texts to his touring duffel bag.

\--

Stiles skipped out on the first couple of gigs in June so he’d be around for his dad’s visit, meeting up with the guys in southern California before heading out west again. Crowley played with them in May and the first week of June, with the shows predominantly in Washington and Portland. Gabriel worked it out to spend the rest of the summer playing with them, so he and Stiles drove in the jeep while Dean and Cas took the chevy. Gabriel gave him an odd look the first time Stiles pulled out his texts and started translating when his round of driving was over, but Stiles wasn’t having it. “Dude, you and Cas can read and understand _Enochian_. You cannot look at me and think this is weird.”

“There’s a difference in wanting to know your own family’s history and reviving a dead language just for the fun of it.” Gabriel scoffed.

“I’m calling it my never-ending-and-never-paying internship, for the record.” Stiles grumbled. Gabriel’s sharp laugh was the only encouragement Stiles needed: he was definitely keeping it on his resume, now.

\--

By the time the first book was typed up and he was starting on the second of the three Derek had shipped him, Stiles’ hair had faded from the bright orange he started the summer with to a pale yellow. He had just sent Derek the file for the first book when he was out picking up another color—banana yellow—when his phone dinged in response. _New email: From: Derek Hale_.

“Well damn,” Stiles muttered, pocketing his phone so he could go pay for the hair color. While camped out in the motel’s bathroom, hair processing, Stiles pulled his phone out again, ready to send a snap of the process to Erica and Lydia, already planning his debate about blondes having more fun, when he saw the notification from Derek still sitting, unopened.

Well. He had another twenty minutes to go.

Stiles shot off the messages to the girls like he had planned, and opened up his email. He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out when he saw Derek’s response.

_Looks good. Thank you._

Stiles stared down at his phone, brow furrowed. Thank you? He debated on calling Erica, but judging by the snap she sent back to him, she was closing the shop that night. She was still in her ninety-day probationary period since being promoted to manager and Stiles was not going to be the reason that got fucked up. Instead, Stiles opened his messages and sent a screen shot of the email to Sam: _dude I think I need to post this on the mini fridge_

Sam’s message came back quickly: _look old dogs can learn new tricks_

Stiles laughed loudly in the bathroom, grinning: _cant wait to see what he says when I send over 2more_

He added several shocked emojis after the line, grinning when he pocketed his phone.

\--

By the end of August, and the end of their summer tour, Stiles had the last two books done. He wasn’t sure if it was just because of his Latin was getting _that good_ or if it was because he spent less time sleeping, the amped up shows leaving adrenaline pumping through his body hours after they were done, which led to him fidgeting relentlessly when everyone tried to catch some sleep before they hit the road again. Unlike high school, he couldn’t blame being wired on his Adderall either—he hadn’t refilled that prescription in months, coping well enough with some more _homeopathic_ strategies that guys had helped him get a hold of.

If he wasn’t translating or playing, he was on his phone, pouring over the band’s social media. The flyers for the shows were premade, but he would connect with each venue a couple weeks in advance, some contacts that were part of the scene in the area, to make sure word of the shows were getting around to the locals before they got into town.

Stiles couldn’t remember the last time he had actually slept through the night.

Apparently, the guys had started to notice, and Dean and Cas pulled him over to their side of the room, stopping him from curling up with one of the texts after they had gotten back to their current motel room. “Kid, sit down.”

Stiles rolled his eyes at the moniker Dean used, but joined them. He leaned back, fingers tapping against his knees, pulling at the ripped strands of denim along the fraying edges against his knees. “Killer set tonight,” Stiles commented.

Dean grinned, “Fuck yeah it was.” Castiel caught his eye and he sat up, “Man, I don’t want to wreck the fun, but seriously, when’s the last time you slept?”

Stiles paused, “Before the show, when you guys were out—”

“That was barely an hour,” Castiel commented, eyes staring at Stiles carefully.

“You’re still kicking ass on stage, and clearly doing this band internship shtick damn well judging by the crowds we’ve been getting, but you’re not looking well.” Dean shoved at Stiles’ shoulder, forcing him to look into the mirror. Stiles had to admit, he didn’t look his best, but he wasn’t exactly crap, either. He looked tired, though.

“We can help,” Cas started.

“Hey, man, I know fucking around helps you guys cool off after a show, and I love you both, I do, but that is not—”

“We’re not asking you for a threesome,” Dean rolled his eyes before shrugging, “Not because that wouldn’t be _hot_ , but—”

“Here,” Castiel pulled out his vape from his pocket. Stiles knew neither of them smoked cigarettes, instead rolling joints and packing the pen with weed cartridges, keeping enough on hand that they never seemed to run out during the longer legs of tour. “Take a couple hits, tell us how you feel.”

Stiles eyed the two warily, but he’d seen them drink and get high on and off over the last three years, so he knew they weren’t fucking with him. He did as Cas told him to, and shrugged. “It’s not like a hit of morphine,” Stiles remarked.

“And we are not going to get you any, so don’t ask,” Dean grumbled back. Stiles agreed, he wasn’t looking for hard drugs or anything. He just had a lot of experience with pain killers, thanks to too many run-ins with sharp claws.

“Go to sleep, your phone can wait until morning,” Castiel stood up with a stretch, arching his back as he reached up high, “Let us know what you think then.”

Stiles wanted to tell them he wasn’t going to force himself to stay up on his phone, but being able to scroll mindlessly helped him direct the overflow of energy and actually try to cool his mind off.

Except – he blinked down at his phone, not feeling the immediate itch under his skin to do _something_ with his hands. He shoved the device onto his charger, and flopped back onto the bed.

Huh.

Maybe Cas was onto something.

\--

He woke up in the middle of the night, changing out of his jeans because apparently he had fallen asleep before even realizing that much still needed to be done, and pulled out his computer long enough to send the finished documents to Derek. He was proud he finished them before they went out on stage and was extra curious to see what Derek was going to send back.

\--

When he woke up again, it was to the sounds of Dean and Cas kissing their way into the shower together. He rolled his eyes before grabbing his phone again. If he actually cared about catching them in the act, he’d fork over the money to get his own room.

He liked having extra money more.

No response from Derek, but Stiles remembered it had only been a couple hours. He had a message from Scott, surprisingly, asking what he was up to. Stiles figured, hey, the guy asked, so might as well be honest, before sending back: _busyest summerEVR. running socials and marketing for pansies and we’re playing just about every night we aren’t driving. shits had me wired._

Scott messaged back pretty quickly, a thrown together _damn dude look at u go_

Not long after, an email from Derek pinged. _That was quick. Take care of yourself._

Stiles frowned, pulling out his message thread to Scott again. He fired off: _traitor!_ before pocketing his phone.

At least now he knew where Scott’s loyalties lied (and, okay, part of him knew they were with Derek, even though they’d always be close, he still knew how pack dynamics differed from regular relationships, but damn if it didn’t sting that Scott only asked because Derek told him to). Realization hit him just as quickly, because Derek could’ve just asked him on his own, but instead decided it was a task better left to his betas.

Stiles frowned, glaring at the wall opposite. He could hear that Dean and Cas weren’t anywhere near being done, and rubbed his hand over his mussed hair, sighing. Across the room, he saw Cas’s vape sitting on the table and picked it up with barely a second thought.

\--

It didn’t become a thing, but Stiles continued to take the offered hits from Cas and Dean after shows. The guys had rolled him a couple joints to keep on him after he returned to Palo Alto and they got back on the road, but the semester had been in full swing nearly a month and he hadn’t touched them. He wasn’t some afterschool special about gateway drugs, and he really liked using it to calm down when his brain wouldn’t stop. When Sam saw them sitting on his desk, he barely paid him any mind about it, mentioning if he ran out he was pretty sure Gabe had a hook up he could connect them with.

It wasn’t until midterms were rolling around and his dad started calling, asking about the holidays again, did he feel his fingers twitching nervously at his sides. He rolled his eyes at the sheer redundancy, pulling out the wooden box he had been using to store the joints before calling his dad back. He had stubbed out the end of one of the rolled joints when he had pulled the box out earlier in the week, relighting the end while he heard the phone ring. He was blowing smoke out by the time his dad picked up.

“You actually called back.” John sounded shocked, Stiles frowning at the realization.

“Uh, yeah, glad we’re not playing phone tag,” Stiles mumbled.

“Now, I know you have finals right after Thanksgiving,” John started, and Stiles hummed his confirmation, “but I was thinking we could fly you back for Christmas, ring in the New Year, and catch a flight back right before classes start up again.”

“Uh huh,” Stiles waited for his dad to finish. “That sounds great, it really does, dad, but—” A groan of frustration cut him off “—we already have contracts pre-paid and signed for December. The guy in Phoenix with the two bars wants us back, two shows this time. One on our way out to Louisiana and one on the way back. Got a couple days in a row with Benny this year.”

“Benny the vampire,” John remarked coldly.

“Well when you put it like that—” Stiles scoffed. He figured he had to keep his dad up-to-date with any supernatural news he heard, if only to let his dad know that no, he wasn’t out of the life completely, and yes, he was surviving just fine, thank you. He put out the end of the joint after taking one last hit. “I’m working, dad, I did amazing work over the summer and now I get to see it paying off.”

“You’re working yourself too hard, you need to take a break.”

“I do take breaks! Besides, I never thought you’d be mad I got my work ethic from you.” Stiles added.

John paused, ruminating over the comment. John had made similar sacrifices in his years leading up to becoming elected Sheriff, missing several holidays and celebrations for the job, giving everything he did his uninterrupted attention.

“You know that’s not how I meant it,” Stiles added after the silence stretched on longer.

“You remember your lease is ending soon,” John added.

“Yeah, in May, dad.”

“And you haven’t signed another one yet.”

“No, because we’re still seven months out.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Uh huh.” John paused, “I’ll see you at graduation.”

“Probably, yeah.” Stiles confirmed. He pocketed his phone after the beep sounded, signaling the call was ended. He closed up the wooden box on his desk, tucking it back into the drawer he’d pulled it from.

He knew he couldn’t stay out of Beacon Hills forever, but he knew he didn’t want to return to being the guy he was when he left for school. He didn’t regret any of this shit he did, hell, he got cool ass battle scars from it, but he wondered if Derek rejected him because of how desperate he probably smelled. Sometimes he’d start to wonder if the others only tolerated him. He knows he didn’t do much to try and keep up any of the friendships outside of Erica and Lydia, but it became glaringly obvious that you were either there, physically part of the pack, or you were out. 

And Stiles felt like he was on the outside looking in.


	4. Chapter 4

_Present Day_

Stiles thinks he knew that Isaac and Boyd moved into the old loft, that the idea of Derek keeping the property after rebuilding the house was something he had to have known at some point, but as Erica dragged him up the stairs, quickly detailing the story of how she had moved in with the boys two years ago, he could not remember this situation ever being said to him before now.

Erica had insisted they host an afterparty in the loft, and Isaac and Boyd knew better than to argue with her once she had an idea. Crowley had slinked off of the stage after they packed up, saying he had some business to take care before he joined them. Stiles was pretty sure Dean and Cas were finishing up backstage while he unassembled his kit. Thankfully, Crowley had helped roll up the cables before he left.

By the end of the show, Isaac and Scott ended up joining Erica and Boyd down in the pit, making Stiles wonder if Scott’s wolfsbane booze blend was put into their drinks that they had been ordering all night. It would make sense; Derek becoming a local bartender, local pack finally getting a way to take part in normal behavior like getting intoxicated out in bars. If he really thought about it, he might actually say the idea was near genius.

Stiles was used to afterparties, getting to unwind and ride out the adrenaline high he always got, maybe find someone to sneak off into a bathroom with, but it was never broadcasted the way Dean and Cas moved their bodies. And never in a party where he intricately knew most of the other people attending. He leaned back against the brick wall near the door, pulling out a small cigarette wallet he kept extra joints in. This felt like one hell of an emergency if he’d ever seen one. Just as he took the first hit, he scanned the room to take a look at everyone there.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t all wolves, which helped ease some of his nerves. Helped it to feel more like a routine gig. Erica had shared the plans with several people out in the crowd, and the word spread as quickly as it had the last time they threw a rave in the building.

Stiles laughed as he took another hit. A fucking _rave_ was in this building and Derek still hadn’t gotten rid of it. Or them.

(Although, he was still debating where he stood on that line.)

In the time that he had spent watching the room, Stiles had noticed Derek walk over to him. He mirrored Stiles’ position, half turned towards Stiles and half to the open room.

“That’s new,” he commented, looking at the lit joint between Stiles’ fingers.

“Not really,” Stiles muttered, turned to blow a puff of air directly towards Derek. He grinned, “What about you, Sheriff know you’re slipping things into the townsfolk’s drinks?”

Derek frowned, “You caught onto that, huh?”

“I’ve only seen Scott get drunk twice in my life. Tonight makes three.” Stiles shook his head with a laugh, watching Scott while he stepped over the cushions of the couch to get closer to Allison. Thankfully, someone had finally gotten a hold of Boyd’s sound system and a mix of alt tunes started to fill the room.

“This your mix, too?” Stiles asked.

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, “It worked at the club, figured it would here, too.” Stiles’ head bobbed in understanding.

“So,” Stiles started, “we’re talking.”

This time, Derek nodded his head without comment. They stood there, quietly watching the room, the light on the end of Stiles’ joint burning bright when he took a hit, but otherwise remaining unseen in the poorly lit space. Standing near the front door wasn’t the smartest move, Stiles realized, when Crowley walked in and immediately spotted him. He took the joint from Stiles, took a hit of his own before passing it back for Stiles to rub out the end against a brick before pocketing the roach. “I know you can party better than _that_ , Stiles,” he admonished, dragging Stiles further into the crowd.

With a roll of his eyes, Stiles let himself get pulled from Derek. He winked at Erica as she eyed them as they passed. Crowley had a knack for finding the booze and drugs within minutes of entering a room, and got two guys standing near the makeshift bar to pour out whiskey for himself. Stiles declined, feeling his high settling in with a grin. The boys drank his share for him, anyway. Crowley had leaned over, grabbing hold of Stiles’ waist before whispering into his ear, “They may not have sharp teeth, but I heard the blonde’s a biter.” He pulled away with a smirk, tugging one of the guys away with him to venture further into the loft.

On one hand, the blonde who took his drink was hot. Definitely pulled off the _I eat glass for breakfast_ vibe he was clearly going for. Stiles looked around the room, and when he didn’t see any of the pack watching him, he grabbed the guy’s hand with a smirk of his own.

The loft may be pack, but this was his scene.

\--

Stiles was leaning against the back of the spiral staircase, head tilted against the wall as the guy (Josh or Justin or something) bit along his neck, proving every bit of what Crowley had promised him. Their hands were firm on each other’s waists, and Stiles was all too happy to stay in this moment for as long as he could, when a voice clearing interrupted them. Stiles blinked his eyes open, catching Lydia watching him before turning towards the kitchen. Stiles groaned, pushing off the wall and out of JoshJustinsomething’s hands.

“What?” He asked, glaring at Lydia, running his heads through his hair.

“Are you aware of what you’re doing?” Lydia asked, watching Stiles over the rim of the plastic cup she drank punch out of. Stiles rolled his eyes in silent answer. “You’re finally back in town, and you slink off—”

“Lydia,” Stiles stopped her, “Just don’t.” He turned his back to her, scanning the crowd again. Crowley was still off with his find, the lucky bastard, and he still hadn’t caught sight of Dean and Castiel. He patted his pockets, realizing Isaac still had his phone with a sigh. He spotted the guy near the row of windows, talking with Boyd near where Boyd had the aux hook up.

“Isaac,” he started, “thanks for shooting tonight.”

“Thanks for the payment,” Isaac grinned, pulling out the forgotten phone without delay. “Shit’s been blowing up, man.”

Stiles groaned before thumbing through his screen. He was still getting notifications from the band’s account, but he went past all of them to find a message from Jess. She had been watching Isaac’s posts as they came out and freaking _loved_ them. She sent a later message letting him know the club had already sent them an email hoping to extend the contract, but she would look over the revisions in the morning.

“Apparently _pansies_ might be staying around longer,” Stiles mumbled, half to himself but knowing the two would hear him fine. “Did that job too damn well,” Stiles smirked at Isaac. “Forget that latte porn, you got talent, man.”

Isaac grinned wide, clearly thriving under the praise. Stiles gripped his shoulder before turning back towards the room. Just as he turned, Dean grabbed him from around the shoulders and hollered in greeting. “Why the _fuck_ have you been keeping this town under wraps?” He demanded.

Stiles leveled a glare at Dean just as Cas came around the other side, first acknowledging the sound set up before directing his attention to the guys. “Sorry we took so long.”

“Hell, Crowley made it over before you guys,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Don’t look now, but you might actually be getting some competition.”

Dean barked out another laugh, hand looped through Cas’s belt loops. “Funniest joke I’ve heard all year.” He rolled his eyes, grabbed Stiles close again, kissing the side of his face before pulling Cas back into the crowd.

At the careful look Isaac and Boyd gave him, Stiles huffed, “Dude, no, that is not a thing.”

Isaac shrugged, “I don’t kiss Boyd.”

“Well maybe you guys should, there’s nothing wrong with showing you actually give a damn about each other every now and then.” Stiles turned around, pulling out his metal wallet again. Two emergencies, in one night. He was pausing to calculate his mind how much he had ingested so far that night, but knew most of it was sweated out during the show. Just as he was taking the first hit, Allison was calling him over to where she stood with Lydia and Scott.

“Stiles!” She yelled over the music, “You’re such a _badass_.”

He smirked, blowing smoke to the side, “Someone’s gotta remind the world not to fuck with Team Human.”

Scott raised his eyebrows in question, “You mean, the other guys—”

“Not confirmed,” Stiles grinned sharply. “But there is a vampire—”

“ _What_ ,” Scott cut him off. Stiles watched Scott carefully, taking another drag slowly. As Allison and Lydia watched the two, he offered the lit joint to either of them. At Allison’s decline, Lydia rolled her eyes before taking it from Stiles.

“Don’t act so surprised,” Stiles shrugged, “You guys aren’t the only things that exist out here.” He took the joint back from Lydia, grinned as she blew her own smoke out. He glanced at Allison, “Your dad ever mention Winchester?”

“I think he’s gone out and travelled on hunts with him, not much older than dad.” She thought about it.

“Yep,” Stiles nodded his head, popping the “P” sound sharply. “Dean’s dad.”

Scott stared at Stiles wordlessly, causing him to shrug again. “You heard Dean tonight, life’s too short, get wrecked.” With another grin he walked away.

It’s not like he came out here tonight with the plan to completely shatter whatever idea of normalcy they had gotten for themselves, but Stiles was damned if he wasn’t going to at least try and make a point that just because he was gone didn’t mean he wasn’t still on top of his shit.

He walked towards the high-top table facing the windows, hopping up onto the top so that his legs were swinging. Castiel joined him shortly, taking the offered joint before moving to sit close to Stiles on the tabletop. “Whatever you said caught the attention of every wolf in the room,” he commented as he handed the joint back.

Stiles shrugged, “Maybe that was my plan.”

“To start a fight?”

“You know, I don’t think the pack is really catching onto the _get wrecked_ motto we like to scream.” Stiles replied. “Maybe I want to see some shit get fucked up.”

Castiel hummed quietly, watching the mass of people in the room. “I thought we reserved that for Dean. You’re normally gone by this point of the night.”

“Yeah, and I probably would’ve been, if I hadn’t been interrupted.” Stiles frowned, leaning back so his palms laid flat on the table top.

“Interrupted by who, Crowley, or Lydia?” Stiles watched Castiel cautiously, staring at the sharp grin that graced his features.

“You weren’t even here for that.”

“No, but I know Crowley.” Castiel leaned over. “And he was either trying to fuck you, or help get you fucked.” Stiles rolled his eyes. It was a lucky guess. The first time he’d played a show with Crowley, he was so amped up by how seamlessly they jammed together that he practically jumped over his kit in his haste to get to the guy. Dean had laughed, asking if they were trying to steal his and Cas’ look. Stiles hadn’t cared, happily falling onto the seedy couch behind one of the sound systems at the bar they were in. The more gigs they played together the more Stiles figured out he liked messing around with Crowley almost as much as liked messing around with the guys Crowley found for him. It was never serious, fueled by the fun of the road, and that’s what he liked most about it. He had never questioned Crowley about it, or gotten jealous about his attempts to (and succeed at) picking up people, until he made the comment towards Derek.

Between the two of them, the joint was quickly burned down to the end. Stiles pocketed it with a sigh, pointedly not looking over at Castiel’s stare. “No more emergency stash, promise.” He held up his hands in mock salute.

Castiel nodded, brushing shoulders with Stiles, “And no tequila.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “C’mon, _Cas_.” Castiel stared at him in response until Stiles gave it up. “Fine. No more weed or tequila, I’ll be a good boy.”

“Give ‘em hell,” Cas remarked, hopping off the table and back into the throng of people surrounding Dean. As soon as Dean spotted him, he pulled Cas back over, kissing him soundly before diving back into the story he had been in the middle of telling.

Stiles stayed where he sat, planted on the table, before deciding his next moves. He could ignore Cas and get fucked up, but he knew he had rocked the boat pretty soundly already and if what Jess said was true, he had no idea how much longer they were going to be in town for. He didn’t need to start an all-out war just to get Derek’s attention—he’d save that for the second show, at the very least. The party was alive with a pleasant buzz going through the crowd as he watched, some people getting noisier the more they drank, others vibing to the music while a couple guys tried to recreate the energy that they had felt at the club. Others were tucked away, making out and hooking up in the corners of the room, and Stiles knew Crowley was among them. He was about to give it up, see if he could get a cab to head back to the motel before Erica caught him trying to leave, when he found Derek walking down the stairs, eyes catching each other from across the room.

“We really gotta stop meeting like this,” Stiles grumbled, frowning at the smirk Derek sent his way as he heard the comment. He walked over, leaning against the table edge instead of climbing on top like Castiel and Stiles had.

“You have fun?” Derek asked cautiously, turning his attention away from Stiles as he looked around the crowd.

“Please, like you didn’t know,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “Mr. All Hearing, All Knowing didn’t catch the part where Lydia cockblocked me?” At Derek’s frown, he glared. “Last I checked, it was none of your business who I kissed anyway.” He looked up at the ceiling before muttering, “You made that clear years ago.”

“Is that really what you—”

“Closing a door in someone’s face is a pretty fucking clear statement, Derek.” Stiles interrupted him, “You may count the words you say carefully but you are not an idiot.” He looked away before muttering, “Still a King of Dicks, though.”

Derek’s laugh forced Stiles to look back at over. “And what the hell is so funny?”

“Is that why you got the book tattoo?” Derek questioned, humor glinting in his eyes. “I made Lydia translate what was in that photo you sent her.”

“Nobody makes Lydia do anything,” Stiles corrected.

“Right.” Derek looked away, not saying what Lydia’s price was. Which meant it had to have been good. A loud yell from the crowd across the room caught both of their attentions, causing the corresponding shouts from others to grow even louder in response. Derek frowned. “Is there anywhere we can—”

“No.” Stiles shot him down, hopping off the table quickly before joining the throng of people, quickly finding Erica among the mass of bodies.

\--

Turns out, the club was ready to pre-pay 100% of their fee to extend the contract by an additional eight shows. Their first show was on a Tuesday, usually the club’s slowest night of the week, and the owner wanted them back for Wednesday and Thursday before coming back to play Sunday, Tuesday and Wednesday for the following two weeks. Jess negotiated a higher fee, noting that the owner saying their sales from the first show more than demonstrated their worth. She was getting in contact with some of the venues they routinely played up in Portland, planning to add weekend gigs to balance the days off. They’d be traveling back and forth, while still getting to spend a couple days in each town before going back.

Stiles was happy that it meant he wouldn’t have any downtime while in Beacon Hills.

The new contract was signed, all the band members happily paid out before they stepped back onto the stage the next night. Jess and Sam were still down south, but she promised to make the trip up to see the venue in person before their residency was over. She connected with Isaac, drafting a written contract for him to shoot more shows for them, too.

Crowley told them he’d stick around for the first week of shows but had other gigs lined up in Seattle and would be splitting after their first weekend in Portland wrapped. Cas confirmed Gabriel was finishing up some work nearby and could make it in time for the following Sunday and the remainder of the scheduled shows.

They would end the month in Portland, with Stiles knowing he’d have to travel back down to Palo Alto to finish moving out of the house. He brought the subject up to Sam, who shrugged him off. Him and Jess had already moved half of their things into their new apartment and told Stiles’ they’d store his boxes until he had his next steps figured out. Sam said to let him know if he wanted them to grab any boxes to keep with him before they came up north, but Stiles was sure he had everything he needed. They didn’t have any solid shows squared away for June and the start of July, when they would need to start making their way east, but watching the way their social media was booming made Stiles confident their calendar wasn’t going to stay open for long and he wanted to be there for every performance this time around.

As they set up their gear for a second night in a row, Crowley looked towards the empty club. “No puppies this time?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “No, they got the picture the first time.” And while it was true, with most of the pack wishing Stiles well on the added performances, none of them were too eager to come out a second night. Thankfully, word of the growing punk scene in the area was spreading amongst people who did care, and Stiles heard Derek say the show had sold out again.

“That was with only five-hours notice,” Dean had commented, pounding fists with Derek in celebration. “Hell yeah!” He hopped back onto the stage, grabbing Cas in a celebratory kiss before punching a fist in the air. Cas grinned happily at the show, finishing tuning up his guitar before placing it on the stand beside his amp.

Stiles had jumped down from the stage after securing his kit’s placement, climbing onto a bar stool across from Derek. “What, no whiskey this time around?” Derek rolled his eyes but grabbed the bottle anyway.

“Erica and Boyd are coming out again,” Derek commented, placing the shot glass in front of Stiles.

Stiles grinned up at Derek. Yesterday, he was scared shitless. But knowing he wasn’t going to be under scrutiny, and that Erica actually liked the show and wasn’t there to gawk at him, helped him to get back into his usual groove. “She fucking better be,” Stiles nodded, downing the shot with practiced ease.

He sat there, tapping the bottom of the shot glass from where he had flipped it over, leg bouncing from where it set resting on the edge of the bar stool. Derek watched the fidgeting hand movements before glancing up at Stiles. Before Stiles could say anything else, Dean was yelling at him to _get his hot ass_ back up on stage before _he sent Crowley down to get him_. Stiles rolled his eyes, laughing at the wink Crowley sent his way. He moved away from the bar, pointedly ignoring the look Derek gave him as his eyes flitted from one to the other.

After they punched out a couple bars from the first set of songs they had queued up, Stiles kept twirling the drum stick in his hand, heel bouncing against the stage floor that wasn’t pressed on the bass drum. Castiel caught his attention, pulling his vape out of his back pocket before tossing it towards Stiles. He caught it easily with a grin, “Thanks, Cas.”

“Remind me to get you one of your own,” Castiel nodded, turning back to the face the front, grinning as he watched Dean practice moving around the stage again.

After a couple quick hits, Stiles’ urge to fidget decreased and his stick twirling became less erratic. He banged out a rhythm across the snare and cymbal seamlessly with a grin.

They were gonna fucking _crush_ it.

\--

Halfway through the first set, while banging out an improvised rhythm, Stiles looked up and laughed, because, _no way_ , Greenberg had crowd surfed his way to the front and managed to jump onto the stage. Stiles laughed harder when he watched Greenberg jump back down after Dean made moves to get his hands on him.

\--

To no one’s surprised, Erica wasn’t going to let him get all the fun, bringing herself onto the stage after surfing through the crowd. Unlike Greenberg, she happily let Dean pull her towards the center stage, mirroring his lewd dance movement with her own imitations. She pumped her fists in the air, two hands folded into horns before turning around and jumping back off the stage, back towards the crowd and trusting them to catch her. She winked at Stiles before launching herself back into the pit.

\--

Their music was more loose this night compared to the last, letting the energy of the crowd guide them as they lengthened one song and shortened another. Crowley and Cas had their own fight of guitars, ripping chords out of their instruments while Crowley stood atop of his amp case. Cas stayed with his feet firmly planted, front of his foot easily switching between the effect pedals he had at his disposal.

The crowd ate it up.

\--

Before ending the first set, Stiles ended up ripping his shirt off. He had already soaked it completely through, and while the spring weather was warming up, he knew with the amount of air conditioning clubs pumped he would be shivering if he kept the wet shirt on. Instead, he used it as a rag to wipe the remaining sweat off his forehead before launching back into his double-snare hits.

When he headed backstage to grab water, Stiles wasn’t surprised that Erica was absent. She probably needed water as badly as he did, and he knew Derek and the other bartenders were probably rushing to get drinks out before they came back on stage.

He pulled his phone out, clicking through his notifications and seeing that Erica had tagged him in her stories on Instagram. Boyd had gotten a shot of her stage performance, and it was followed up by Stiles banging away at the drums during their last song, leaning over his kit with concentrated rhythm while the tense muscles along his shoulders and torso were clear from where they stood in the front. Stiles shared it to his own page with a grin.

“Well aren’t you hot stuff,” Crowley remarked with a smirk, drinking from his own water where he sat next to Stiles. “Can never keep your shirt on, can you?”

Stiles laughed, “You seem to have the same issue with your pants.” Crowley offered his water up in mock toast, conceding to the point.

\--

They finished out the show without issue, with Cas and Dean managing to keep themselves from actually flashing the crowd (which was not to say that Crowley and Stiles didn’t get an eyeful, or that they had managed to keep their clothes on). Stiles wondered if Dean remembered the law enforcement in this town when he pushed Cas behind the alcove in the middle of one of their songs, shoving the mic into his own waistband so he could get his hands on the other guy.

The yells from the crowd egged them on.

Looking back, Stiles should have realized having their band play in Jungle, intersecting the known gay club clientele with the unexpected and unpredictable punk scene was an obvious recipe for success, because the things Dean and Cas were doing on stage was nothing that the dance floor of Jungle hadn’t already seen.

Watching the crowd empty out of the club, doing the same practiced routine of packing up their equipment, Stiles looked up. Erica and Boyd were still at the bar, talking to Derek as he cleaned up from behind the counter. He hastily finished repacking his kit before jumping down from the stage, ignoring the questioning look Crowley gave him as he made his way across the open floor.

“You promise you’re not a crimefighting superhero in your free time?” Erica questioned, eyeing Stiles with a sharpened stare.

Stiles laughed, “Nope, this is all thanks to drumming and lugging that massive kit everywhere.” He paused, “And Sam and Dean getting me to join them in their morning routine.” He rolled his eyes, “Their dad was a Marine in a past life, and apparently that’s excuse enough to make your roommate get up at ass o’clock in the morning to run sprints with you.”

For all the jokes, Stiles wasn’t actually all that mad about it. He liked watching the ink on his arms flex with his muscles as they strengthened. 

Before either of them could say more, a couple of guys walked over, some of the only people left lingering behind. One of them reached out to touch Stiles on the shoulder with a flirty smile, “Nice sleeve, drummer boy.” His smile grew wider, “There’s a party happening over in the warehouse district. You guys should come through.” He glanced over at the stage where the other guys were finishing up.

Stiles leaning easily back against the bar, hands tucked into his pockets, “Maybe we will,” he smirked back, “Thanks for the tip.” Stiles nodded as the guy winked before turning and walking out with his own friends. Stiles rolled his neck before turning back to face his friends. “You guys in?”

Erica, apparently still running the high from the show and whatever Derek had probably given her to drink, was all too happy to oblige, but paused when she caught the look on Derek’s face.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “C’mon, Derek, you don’t want to live up to your name, now do you? Come have some fun.” Stiles glanced down at the banner poised in the middle of his upper arm before walking away. “Be there or be square!” he yelled back.

“And sexless. Don’t forget sexless,” Crowley called back, high-fiving Stiles when he jumped back onto the stage. Stiles laughed back, throwing his wet shirt over his shoulder and picking up the pieces of his packed drum set.

\--

Stiles pulled up to the warehouse in a cab with Crowley, Dean and Cas. After packing up their gear, they had piled everything back into a locked closet the manager had showed them previously, where they could store everything so they wouldn’t need to drive back to the motel to unload before going back out. Stiles could hear the pounding bass playing in the abandoned building from outside, shoving his hands into his pockets when he got the urge to dive headfirst into the throng of people he could see through the open door. Crowley’s hand on his wrist kept him from walking in right away, stopping to look back at the smirk Crowley had directed at him.

Cas had pulled out his own wallet of joints, lighting up the end with the aid of Dean’s zippo again. They shared the first hit, as they normally did, before passing it to Crowley. With a grin, Crowley breathed deep before using his other hand to grip Stiles’ neck, pulling him close so they could shotgun it. Crowley’s laugh rang through the open lot after Stiles bit down on his lip in response to him licking into his mouth. Stiles took the lit joint from his hands, taking a second hit of his own before passing back to Castiel. Crowley showed little remorse in his actions, walking past Stiles to head into the building, but not before slapping him on the ass as he made his way in.

Dean let out a whistle in response, pulling Cas close in a similar way before they also pushed into the building. Grinning, Stiles shot out a quick message to Erica, sharing his location before following after his friends.

\--

It became apparent pretty quickly that the party wasn’t just filled with people who had been at the show, with thumping electronic music pounding through the rigged speaker system. Stiles wondered if Beacon Hills always had such a lively nightlife, considering it was still only midweek, but figured it wasn’t worth pressing the issue if he got to bask in the fun of it.

Stiles was moving between bodies, out somewhere in the middle of the crowd, dancing just as wildly as those around him. He grinned when he caught sight of the guy from the club, smirking when he watched his eyes trail up and down Stiles’ torso, still naked from when he’d pulled his shirt off. Stiles was about to start walking towards the guy when another hand tugged on his shoulder, spinning him around. Before he could shout at the offense, he smiled when he caught sight of Erica. “You made it!” He yelled out, throwing his arms around her.

“Someone has to keep you out of trouble,” She smirked before pulling back.

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Hell no, this is like a den of inequity, we are here to be the trouble.” He hollered in response, forcing her to laugh and shout with him. His eyes scanned the room before finding an area where people were circled around a table, figuring it to be a makeshift bar. “You got any of the goods from Derek?”

Erica rolled her eyes, “No, he takes this bartending thing seriously and only pours out what he thinks we’ll be able to handle.”

“That’s rude.” Stiles frowned, tugging Erica over.

“I agree.” She stopped, pulling a flask out of her back pocket, “Which is why I liberated my own stash.”

Stiles yelled out his pleased response, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the table before pouring it into an empty plastic cup. They toasted their respective drinks before tossing them back, with Stiles finishing what he had poured in one go and Erica capping the flask before pocketing it.

Erica pulled Stiles back into the mass of bodies, grinning as they danced together. She leaned close to his ear, making sure he would hear her over the music and people around them. “Were you really going to, with that guy?” She tipped her head back.

“Maybe,” Stiles shrugged, “You telling me being in the pit didn’t make you want to jump Boyd’s bones?”

Erica rolled her eyes, “Anything that guy does makes me want to jump his bones.”

Stiles laughed, throwing his head back with grin. “Fuck, snapchat got nothing on being with you guys.”

“Duh, I could’ve told you that.” Erica didn’t press further, grinning as they continued moving.

Several moments, and two songs, passed before Stiles leaned over, “Where the hell is Boyd anyway?”

“With Derek,” she answered simply.

“And where did he run off to?”

“He’s here,” Erica nodded her head, looking up towards one of the higher platforms in the building. Stiles leaned back, following her eye gaze to catch what she was looking at. Derek noticed them, probably heard Erica give away his hiding spot, and frowned back at them.

“Get your ass down here,” Stiles yelled back, grinning when Derek’s frown deepened. Good, so he did hear him. “Boyd, if you don’t drag his ass down here, I’m taking Erica home with me.”

Erica laughed when Stiles tugged her close, planting a loud kiss to the side of her face. Apparently, Boyd did not trust Stiles as much as she did, and, because Derek taught all of his betas to have a flair for dramatics, jumped down from the ladder they had used to climb up, all but pushing Derek to hop down ahead of him. They weaved their way through the crowd with ease, Erica being pulled out of Stiles’ hands when Boyd’s firm arm wrapped her waist.

“I never said I didn’t fight dirty.” Stiles smirked, making kissing faces to Boyd before staring back at Derek. For all that he had done to join them, he looked woefully out of place, face neutral and staring back at Stiles. Stiles rolled his eyes, reaching around to pull the flask out of Erica’s back pocket, ignoring the glare and shout Boyd gave in response. “If I touch her ass, I’m grass, I get the picture,” Stiles retorted before pushing the flash into Derek’s hands. “You really need to get on our level, man.”

Derek eyed the container before raising an eyebrow at Erica. She looked away sheepishly, pointedly ignoring the look he sent her way. Stiles pushed the flask closer to his mouth, and while Derek didn’t know Stiles much anymore, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to have much more of a choice soon, either way. Stiles’ grin widened when Derek took a drink on his own, shoving the closed flask back into Boyd’s hands. The two moved further into the crowd, Erica’s curls bobbing through the crowd long enough that Stiles knew they were content on their own, leaning back on his heels while he watched Derek.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He questioned.

Derek didn’t answer at first, pulling on Stiles’ wrist so they backed out of the middle of the room and closer to the edge of the room, the walls of the warehouse close behind him when he let go.

Stiles grinned, leaning back against the wall, with his body half tilted towards Derek’s. When Derek let go of his wrist, Stiles grabbed hold of his side, pulling their bodies closer together. He looked up at Derek, nearly level with each other, his grin turning feral the longer they stared at each other. Sense memory was a bitch, even with the crossfade he had going on, and Stiles felt a sense of déjà vu when Derek’s breath ghosted over his mouth like it had four years prior.

Stiles’ eyes flicked from Derek’s mouth back up to his eyes, tilting his head forward, closer. He licked his lips happily when he watched Derek mirror his movement.

And just when they were seconds away from each other, Stiles pulled back, shoving his hands back into his pockets and walking away.

He caught sight of Crowley, dragging his hands through his own hair while walking away from a guy much more flustered looking than himself. He reached out, grabbing Crowley by the back of his neck before pulling him close. Stiles turned, head tilted towards Derek before he called back, “ _Fuck. You._ ”

Crowley laughed, reciprocating the touch from Stiles and letting himself be pulled back into the room. Stiles could feel himself being watched as he resumed dancing, but he was not looking back over, and he was not looking over to see where Boyd and Erica had gone off to. Just because Derek was finally responding to him, did not mean he was going to clammer for the reciprocation he practically begged for the first time around.

If Derek actually gave a damn, he was going to have to earn it.

\--

Sometimes the towns they went through had a local pack or supernatural presence and the guys were used to being stopped by local representatives telling them to back out, leave, because they were causing too much of a disturbance to the peace with their shenanigans.

The first time it happened, Stiles almost couldn’t stop laughing. A family of trolls were mad because they felt Dean was turning their youngest into a delinquent with their lewd performance and attempts at outing the existing of the paranormal to the mainstream.

(How Dean sucking dick on stage was a threat to the supernatural community, Stiles had no idea.)

Still, they had enough meetings with family leaders or local hunters that when Chris Argent came knocking on their motel door, Stiles rolled his eyes before backing into the room to let the guy in. Crowley had been sitting on the bed he shared with Stiles, having joined them back at the makeshift living arrangements after leaving the warehouse, tugging his pants on when Stiles got up to answer the door. Dean and Cas were tumbling out of the bathroom.

“At least get dressed first,” Chris muttered, staying close to where Stiles had shut the door.

“You’re the one who came here,” Stiles commented.

Chris eyed him warily before turning his attention to Dean. “As I’m sure you’re aware, your stint in this town has caused a bit of a stir.”

“Hell yeah, it has,” Dean grinned.

“It’s becoming unsettling.” Chris added on, frowning.

“What, because there’s more people coming through town, or because the wolves are trying to make sense of their own shit?” Stiles called out. “Since when do they send a hunter for their bartering, anyway? We aren’t good enough for Derek or his second?”

“As I am friendly with John Winchester, it was decided I may have more success.”

Dean stood up, untangling himself from Castiel as he walked over to Chris. “Let’s get one thing straight, here. I may be a Winchester, and I may have a track record for taking out ghosts and ghouls, but I am not just going to roll over and _take it_ because some guy has been on a hunt with dear old dad.”

“We’re leaving after tonight’s show,” Stiles added. “Heading out to Portland, so why don’t you tell the wolves to untwist their panties and grow the hell up.”

Chris frowned, “You are returning next week.”

“Correct,” Castiel added, giving Dean a squeeze across his shoulders as he stood to join them. “We will be back for three more shows next week, and the week thereafter.”

“And then we’re gone, ghosts in the wind,” Stiles added with a grin. “Which Derek knows.”

Chris nodded, considering the information. “Be careful, and try to remember that this land has been peaceful territory for the last three years. If something was to change that, for as naïve a reason as it may have been—”

“You’ll what, chase us out of town? Hunt us?” Crowley laughed. “I’d like to see you weasels try.”

Chris ignored the comment, looking back over at Stiles, “If you do intend on returning in the future, as I know the Sheriff hopes that you will, be careful with what you do while you’re here now.” Stiles opened his mouth to shout back his own response but was cut off by Chris pulling the door open and leaving just as quickly as he had arrived.

Dean and Castiel didn’t push the subject further—for all the tightlipped conversations they’d been met with over the years, nothing ever escalated despite the threats laid out for them. Dean pulled Stiles into a tight hug before pulling his bag out to tug on some clothes. Castiel retrieved a new cartridge for the vape pen he’d been sharing with Stiles, replacing it before handing it back over. Crowley leaned back on the bed, head against the wall above the pillows. He looked over at Stiles with a smirk, “What ever will we do now?”

\--

Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised to find out that Derek wasn’t tending the bar that night, but he still looked over at the nameless guy preparing drink mixes while they punched their way through soundcheck. Any other day, he would have been happy that his phone had remained blissfully silent but the lack of messages from Erica made something in him twist uncomfortably. For the second time that day, as he felt the unease settling, he took a hit off the vape pen he had tucked into his back pocket.

A couple more hours, then they were packing up, catching some sleep, and hitting the road for Portland early enough that he wouldn’t be able to stop and catch a meal with his dad. Stiles didn’t mind, happy to be hitting the road so early, but John did not share the sentiment.

The show went off without a hitch, the crowd having not thinned out after two straight performances. Stiles wasn’t sure if the gig completely sold out like the first two, but judging by the never-ending line of people swarmed by the bar, he figured the owner was still making a good buck on their performance. Stiles had played the whole performance without a shirt, kicking himself for not packing more clothes before leaving Palo Alto. They had managed to do a quick wash before heading out to the club, and Stiles wasn’t sure where they’d be staying once they made it into Oregon. Figured it was better to save the shirts just in case.

Stiles leaned against the side of the club, taking hits off of the second to last joint from his emergency stash, grinning when he caught the eye of some guys walking out. Besides enjoying the hell out of their gigs, that was one thing Stiles wouldn’t deny about living on the road: the amount of attention he got from nameless strangers, getting to enjoy their company as a stranger himself, always sent a thrill down his spine. He was about to make a proposition to one of the guys, whose eyes lingered longer than his friends, when Castiel joined him.

“You’re running low,” Cas commented, looking at the offered joint between them.

“Good thing Gabe’s joining us next week.” Stiles shrugged, “I already asked him to make a stop before I pick him up.”

Castiel nodded, watching silently for a moment longer. “Meg is back on the west coast this month, if you want to take any of the shows off—”

“Nope, no, no way,” Stiles shook his head, “You do not need a replacement drummer, and the last thing Beacon Hills needs to see is you, Dean and Meg having a threesome on the stage.”

“The offer isn’t going away.” Cas remarked, “Anything changes, you tell us.”

Stiles nodded, thanking Cas as they made their way back inside. Like _hell_ was he going to give up any of the gigs, getting to enjoy a full summer of uninterrupted shows and performances. Still, he was reminded why he liked being part of the group: at the end of the day, they were friends, practically family and cared more about how they were doing than how much money they could make.

“Besides,” Stiles added, “Sam and Jess will be up here soon, anyway.”

\--

The weekend in Portland flew by, and Stiles was loading up the jeep once again while Crowley remained lazily resting on the bed in their room. He had a day between shows, unlike Stiles, Dean and Cas who had to get back into Beacon Hills for their sixth straight performance. Even with how busy last summer had been, they still had enough lulls between gigs for Dean to pick up a couple hunting jobs while they were between towns. It didn’t look like that was going to be an option this month.

Stiles couldn’t wait for Monday, to get to sleep in before their next six-day block. After their second show in a dive bar where they’d frequented in the past, Stiles went back with Crowley into the motel room he had gotten for himself, all too eager and happy to hook up with the guy, riding the high of adrenaline until they were both blissfully fucked out.

Cas had sent him a message, letting him know they were wrapping up and planning on leaving within the next hour. Not wanting to roll into Beacon Hills on his own, Stiles nudged Crowley awake to let him know he’d be hitting the road soon. Crowley slapped his ass when he walked out, wishing him luck before lazily rolling back over to catch a couple more hours of sleep.

They were driving back to the same motel from before, with Gabriel agreeing to bunk with Stiles like they had dozens of times during past trips. Stiles was sure Gabe would end up spending just as many nights out of their room as he did in it, as he was often known to.

Halfway into the drive, Stiles caught sight of his phone buzzing from where it sat nestled into his cupholder. He swiped his thumb over the screen quickly, tapping speaker. The audio crackled through his cassette hook up and he had to yell to make sure he was heard while driving. “Yeah?” He called out, having not checked to see who it was.

“You let the streak die.” Erica’s voice cut through the jeep.

“No, you let it die.” Stiles rolled his eyes. “You haven’t spoken to me since Wednesday. Or, Thursday? Whatever fucking day it was.” There was a pause, but Stiles continued, “Besides, you guys sent _Chris_ _Argent_ to come talk to us? What kind of bullshit was that?”

“It had to be someone unbiased.” Erica reasoned.

Stiles laughed sharply at that, “I forgot, everyone has strict loyalties to Derek except the resident hunter, sorry for my mistake.”

“No, you dumbass.” Stiles could practically hear Erica rolling her eyes, “It had to be someone who wasn’t biased towards _you_.”

“In case you forgot,” Stiles continued, “I’m not exactly pack. I barely talk to any of you. Excuse me if I find that hard to fucking believe.”

He heard Erica groan in exasperation before responding, “I really want to tell you to go fuck yourself but this isn’t why I called.”

“Right, you called to complain about snapchat.” Stiles added with a grin.

“No, I _called_ to let you know that you and Derek need to sort your shit out.”

“Did he tell you to make the call?” Stiles asked.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Erica’s voice yelled through the broken line, “I’m calling to tell you this as your friend, because I know you’re not actually this dumb, you have a goddamn _Ivy League_ degree, so how about you get your head out of your ass and actually talk to the guy.”

“Can’t,” Stiles rattled off without pause, “We’ve been going six days straight. I’m crashing hard when we get back tonight.”

“Fine, then do it tomorrow.” Erica continued, “I know you don’t have a show tomorrow night.”

It was Stiles’ turn to groan over the line, “That’s our day _off_ Erica.”

“Like you weren’t going to spend it laying around, getting high.”

She had a point.

Neither of them said anything for a minute, before Stiles changed the subject. “Anyone coming tonight? We got a different bass player this time.”

“Derek switched his shifts again.” Erica commented, and Stiles wondered if he was supposed to know that Derek’s absence was by choice and not chance. “You’re not going to try and fuck this one, too, are you?”

“Hell no, Gabriel’s like another brother.” Stiles snapped back. “He’s the one who taught me how to make all those cookies you guys eat up every Christmas.”

“Ooh, maybe you will see us tonight.” Erica thought aloud, “Whoever taught you to bake is clearly a miracle worker.”

Stiles cut off Erica’s laughter, looking down to hit the _call end_ button on his phone before hastily looking back at the road. At least there was a chance _someone_ in the pack was happy to have him back.

\--

For all that was said earlier, Stiles was not expecting to see Derek behind the bar when they arrived at the club later that afternoon. Judging by the way Derek barely reacted when he heard them come in, Stiles realized Erica probably wasn’t supposed to mention Derek’s choice of being absent, because now Derek looked at him cautiously when Stiles stared back at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

They didn’t have a chance to say much to each other, Gabriel’s handing coming down and clapping Stiles on the shoulder as he pulled him to the stage. Shortly after his call with Erica, Stiles had hopped off the highway to meet up with Gabriel, picking him up after he found a trainline that got him as close to Beacon Hills as he could go. Whenever they were getting ready for another set months of touring, Gabriel and Stiles usually worked it out for him to ride along with Stiles. It never made sense for them to have three cars, just like how they rarely booked more than one motel room. Their cut from the money each gig brought in may have gotten higher in the last year, but that didn’t mean living on the road was cheap.

“Cas has been telling me all about this sweet town,” Gabriel commented, looking out into the open club from where he stood on the stage, “But now I have to see if it really lives up to his word.”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “It’s a town just like any of the others we’ve played in.”

“That’s not what I heard,” Gabriel grinned.

Dean looked up from where he had been untwisting some of their cables, “You know it’s true, Stiles. We haven’t had this kind of crowd outside of Baton Rouge and Phoenix, and right off the bat, before.”

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbled, unzipping the cases his drum set was packaged away into, kicking out his stands to hold the snares. If this had happened in any other town, he’d probably be just as proud and excited, but he was still reminded that this was the town he grew up in, that he left and stayed out of only to come back and have one of their biggest stints of success be so closely tied to a place he was itching to get out of.

After all that time and effort, and this is where they ended up?

Stiles wondered if he ended up getting cursed during one of their quick pass throughs on the road. At least that would make sense.

\--

“We’re the _Paranormal Pansies_ ,” Dean’s voice yelled out as their final song came to a close, howling into the microphone in lieu of any of his usual closing phrases. Stiles laughed loudly, hollering his own howl in response as the crowd mirrored his example.

\--

Stiles barely batted an eyelash at the lingering looks he got from the crowd as he packed up. For as much as fun as he liked to have after shows, and as much fun as he knew some of the guys in the crowd could probably be, he just wanted to sleep. After spending the night up with Crowley, barely catching a couple hours before they were back on the road, plus the emotional whiplash being back in Beacon Hills was putting him through, he knew he was going to hit the pillow hard.

Thankfully, Gabriel had handed him a baggie when they met up earlier in the day and Stiles already had papers tucked into his duffel, so the only thing on his agenda for their day off was to replenish his supplies and actually look into buying his own pen.

He could’ve sworn he was only asleep for ten minutes when the sound of his phone ringing forced him awake. He blearily looked at the time— _12:30pm_ —when he accepted the call. “Hey dad,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his eyes sleepily.

“We’re getting lunch.” John said, not leaving room for argument.

“What?” Stiles sat up, ignoring the grunt Gabriel gave in remark to the sudden jostling in the bed. Stiles kicked him back before standing up. He yanked open the door, noting Dean and Castiel were also still asleep, not commenting until he was far enough away from his sleeping friends. “What are you talking about?”

“Get dressed, I’m coming to get you.” Stiles get hear the sound of his dad packing up his things from across the line. “You’ve been in town nearly a damn week and I haven’t seen you since.”

“Technically we left and came back,” Stiles muttered.

“More reason to throw a shirt on and get some food with your old man.” John didn’t wait for Stiles to respond, ending the call as quickly as he had started it. Stiles frowned, he hadn’t even told him where they were staying.

As silently and quickly as he could, Stiles went back into their room and threw on clothes he had thrown into his bag before they had left Oregon. He glanced up in the bathroom when brushing his teeth, rolling his eyes when he realized Crowley had thrown one of his shirts in with his things. Stiles shoved his boots on—at least the shirt smelled clean enough.

He was leaning against the wall outside their room, thumbing through the comments on the band’s Instagram, when the sound of the police cruiser pulling in caught his attention. He shot a quick message off to Cas: _dads kidnapping me say a prayer_

Stiles shoved the phone back into his pocket before climbing in.

“You look like shit,” John said in greeting.

“Probably because I feel like it.” Stiles rolled his eyes. At the sidelong glance John sent his way, he continued, “Don’t give me that look, I barely had time to brush my teeth. I’ll shower later.”

“I know weed’s been legal for a couple years, but you don’t have to smell like the damn plant yourself,” John grumbled, turning onto the highway to head closer into town again. Stiles didn’t comment, leaning back in his seat and tapping his fingers together.

John eyed his fidgeting fingers before commenting again, “You still filling your Adderall?”

“Uh,” Stiles squinted as he looked out the window, “No, not in a couple years.”

John hit his breaks more quickly than usual when they pulled up to a stop sign, “Why the hell not?”

“With the hours we work,” Stiles waved his hand in the air, “I started getting bad crashes and popping a second one just made it harder to sleep. Cas got me doing more yoga and meditation with him, and Gabriel helped me figure out how the food we eat effects gut health. And, you know, smoking helps with everything else.”

“You’re a damn hippie,” John sighed.

“Breaks the punk mold you built for me, doesn’t it?” Stiles grinned, looking at John as they continued traveling further into town.

“You break any mold people try to shove you into, Stiles.” John spoke honestly, sighing when they pulled into a parking lot. It was the same restaurant they had gone to when he first rolled into town. Stiles was happy one thing hadn’t changed: his dad knew how to bribe and swindle what he wanted, including when it came to his own son.

“Don’t give me that look,” John added as they got out of the car. “They’re your favorite fries in the whole damn county.”

“And best burgers.” Stiles commented, watching his dad cautiously.

“No hippie-punk son of mine is going to tell me what I can and cannot eat,” John held his hand up, pointing at Stiles for a moment, serious face breaking after a second to grin. “Get the hell in there, kid,” he pushed Stiles ahead of him, swinging the door open.

Compared to the first meal they shared, and the dozens of phone calls over the years, Stiles actually felt like this was the first time they sat and talked, no cut off arguments about what Stiles was doing with his life because for once neither of them brought it up. John mentioned how, at the weekly Rotary Club meeting, the local business owners were talking about the recent uptick in business. Stiles grinned, his dad finally starting to see how what they did was about more than just _sticking it to the man_. People were traveling through the county, coming from all over, and bringing new life to the town. It’s not like the town was struggling or anything, as most suburban towns are able to self-sustain, but it was enough of a boost that it got people talking.

Before, Jungle was the only club in the area, and half the business owners hated its presence, questioning the kind of reputation it might give the area. Now, they were realizing having live performance ventures might be good for everyone.

Stiles half expected his dad to mention how, with the burgeoning businesses and ideas floating around of converting some of the abandoned warehouses into additional retail space, they were going to be in need of some highly skilled marketing and PR professionals, but for once John skirted around the topic. Stiles watched his dad carefully–the man wasn’t elected Sheriff as many times as he had been without picking things up along the way. For once, he willingly let the topic slide.

Stiles grinned, leaning back in his seat, listening to his dad intently while eating his way through a second order of fries. Maybe things were going to get better.

\--

Stiles really needed to stop jinxing himself. His dad was a smart man, and while he acted like he had no idea Erica was going to be stopping in, having wrapped up the morning shift at the shop, the hopeful glint Stiles recognized as he looked between Erica and Stiles gave enough away. Stiles sat up in his seat, watching Erica cautiously as she joined them at the table. John was wiping his hands clean, taking the bill to the front to pay without pause. “I’m sure you’ll find a ride back, Stiles, but business calls.” He smiled down at Stiles, “I’ll see you later.”

Before Stiles could yell at his dad’s back as he walked away, Erica slid out of her seat next to Stiles to move to the booth across from him. She leaned back in her seat, watching him carefully.

“This was a trap,” Stiles muttered.

“Convenient. It’s convenient,” Erica corrected. “And lucky for you, I’m done work for the day.”

“So, what, we go ride around town and pretend shit isn’t weird?”

Erica rolled her eyes, “No, you’re going to come back to the loft with me, let me recolor your hair because that pink is fading _fast_ , and hang out like we used to.”

“Fine.” Stiles paused when they stood up, “We’re getting ice cream on the way.” Erica grinned back.

\--

By the time Boyd had returned home, finishing his own work day after five, Erica and Stiles had been camped out on the couch for a solid two hours. They made their way through one pint of ice cream, marathoning their favorite horror flicks from back in high school. Before Erica would let them pull out the second ice cream, though, she demanded they start on his hair. Stiles reluctantly agreed, which is how Boyd found him sitting with a plastic bag wrapped around his head, hints of purple clear through the cloudy plastic. He eyed them both for a moment before muttering, “You better not stain the tub with that,” before hanging up his bag and keys, grabbing his own bottle of water from the kitchen.

Stiles mumbled an affirmative, looking down at Erica’s nails and adding another coat of black. She had badgered him, saying if he could wear eyeliner and dye his hair, he could paint his goddamn nails, and he quickly realized he was not going to win the debate. Stiles had to admit, it didn’t look half bad. And then she had told him, hey, I painted yours, you have to paint mine, too, and for all of his fumbling and fidgeting, Erica’s nails came out looking pretty alright.

It wasn’t until Stiles’ had dried his hair with Erica’s help, the violet tones bright against his fair skin, their nails dry and reaching the tail end of another movie, did he realize she was shooting sideways glances to Boyd. He waited several more minutes, waiting to see if they’d relent, but as the tension grew increasingly obvious, Stiles groaned, “What are you two trying to say without me hearing?”

Erica and Boyd stopped, looking at him and then back at each other. Boyd sighed, crossing his arms over his chest, pointedly looking at Erica to explain.

“There’s a pack meeting tonight.”

“Oh, that’s all you had to say,” Stiles rolled his eyes, standing up to go throw the last of their trash away. “Just drop me off on your way, don’t let me make you guys late.”

Erica stood up, watching him carefully, “You’re coming, too.”

“Uh, _no_ , I am not.” Stiles glared. “What, you were sent by Derek to be buddy-buddy, get my guard down, and then, I’d, what? Happily follow you into the den of the big bad?” He shook his head, “Damn Erica, and here I thought you actually missed me.”

Erica glared back, eyes narrowed just as harshly, “You asshole, of course I missed you. Streaming movies together over a video call is not the same as getting to actually sit together and do all of this.” She looked around the room. “Can you get over yourself for all of five minutes to see that we all want you there tonight?”

Stiles looked over at Boyd, who shrugged, his arms falling away from where they had been crossed, hands resting at his sides as he smiled in agreement.

He thought a moment longer before turning back to Erica, “Fine.” He cut her off before she could say more, “But if I want to leave at any point, you are driving my ass back to the motel. No questions asked.” Erica happily agreed, cleaning up with more haste than normal, eagerly tugging on Stiles’ arm.

“It’s good to have you back.”

\--

While Boyd drove them over, Erica glancing in the back to see what Stiles was doing, he tapped at his phone, glancing through notifications before catching a message from Dean. They were heading out to grab dinner and wanted to know if he’d want any. He quickly typed back: _no ive been invited to break bread with the wolves. If im not back tonight sound the alarm_

Dean didn’t respond besides liking his message. Cas sent him a separate message, wishing him luck. Stiles grinned down at his phone, happily reminded yet again why he loved doing the shit they did together.

“Who you smiling about, back there?” Erica teased, eyeing his phone cautiously.

“Dean and Cas,” he replied freely, “they’re just checking in.”

Erica nodded before twisting back around in her seat, sharing a look with Boyd as they pulled down the once-familiar dirty road leading to Derek’s house.

In retrospect, he really hadn’t been gone long, so Stiles shouldn’t have been surprised to see that the house had barely changed. From what he could gather, it was only Derek living there, although Erica had mentioned Isaac was thinking about moving out of the loft and into one of the room’s that had pretty much become his own. She had grinned at the thought, looking up at Stiles with a new wave of excitement clear in her expression. Stiles made a joke about hiring wedding bands, to which she playfully shoved him nearly off of the couch, laughing as he struggled to get back up without smudging the still-wet nail polish.

Scott and Allison were already there, standing out on the porch, Scott grinning wide when he realized Stiles was in the car with them. They clapped each other on the back in greeting, Stiles giving Allison a brief hug before they moved to make their way into the home. Stiles paused, looking over at Erica. She rolled her eyes playfully, shoving him forward before closing the door behind them. Stiles noticed Isaac sitting at the kitchen island when they walked in, talking to Lydia who was sitting opposite him. She looked up when the commotion of everyone else entering filled the space, standing when she caught sight of Stiles.

“Glad to see you’ve gotten over yourself,” She whispered into his ear when they hugged in greeting. She tugged at his hair, inspecting the ends carefully before turning to Erica, “Not bad.”

“How’d you know she did it?” Stiles questioned, looking between the two carefully. They smirked in response before walking back into the kitchen. Stiles stood there, watching them helplessly before Derek’s voice caught him off guard.

“They do that to everyone,” he commented, glancing towards Erica and Lydia. “Whenever Lydia’s back in town, they start ganging up on everyone else.”

Stiles nodded, stepping away from where Derek had stood closely next to him, fingers flexing from where he had shoved them into his front pockets. He walked up to Scott, nudging him with his shoulder. “So, what do you guys get up to on pack nights, anyway?”

Scott knocked his shoulder back with a grin, “Same as always. Sometimes we go through the old books, or discuss any changes in the neighboring counties, but it usually turns into a big movie night.” Stiles nodded, wordlessly, leaning against the frame that separated the kitchen from the open living room. His eyes caught site of a bookcase across the room, and he walked over, tapping his fingers against the wood as he read the different titles. Some were new, some old like the ones he and Sam used to have on display, and then there was a row of binders. Stiles recognized the titles, the English translations of the ones he had been sending over the years.

“Glad to see I was able to help your library,” Stiles muttered, looking back at Derek from where he still stood back in the hallway. Derek nodded, moving into the room, but not as close to Stiles as he first had.

“We had to give them their own shelf,” Derek added, looking at the row of binders with content.

“Sorry for never sending the books back,” Stiles spoke under his breath.

“What?” Derek asked, looking at Stiles in confusion. “No, those are for you. I want you to keep them.”

“You never actually said so, so I wasn’t entirely sure,” Stiles shrugged, one hand tapping the spine of the last binder in the row. He reached to his back pocket with his other hand, pulling out the vape pen he had grabbed out of Cas’s bag before he left that afternoon. He looked up Derek cautiously, “You mind?”

Derek shook his head, but turned his head when Stiles took a couple deep breaths before pocketing the pen. He watched Stiles for a moment, and Stiles recognized the face immediately, one of Derek’s signature _I want to ask what you’re doing but I don’t know how or if I even want to know the answer_.

He used to love having that look directed at him, because it happened so often, and Stiles knew he was the only one who could confuse Derek like that.

This time around, his heart didn’t race like it used to do when he was in high school. Instead, he waited for Derek to actually voice his thoughts, refusing to give the guy an out.

Another minute passed and Derek said, “Does it help?”

“Usually,” Stiles nodded. “I wasn’t sleeping much last summer, and then I realized it helped keep the fidgeting to a minimum since I went off actual meds. I only keep enough around for emergencies but I think I’m going to get my own pen soon, anyway.” He twirled the vape pen in his hand as he spoke before pocketing it again.

Derek didn’t say anything in response, just nodding as he listened.

Stiles sighed, “You know, for a guy acting so concerned this week, you really didn’t seem to care when you kept shipping those books out. Pretty sure you were the one who complained when it took a little extra time to get back to you.” He looked pointedly at Derek.

“There was a situation, and we needed the book translated to take care of it.” Derek freely commented. “I didn’t think we were going to need it when I sent them out, and then we did, but there wasn’t a way to let you know that things had changed.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed as he listened, “Pretty sure you had my number, man. And email. And if you didn’t have the balls to let me know, you know I was still talking to Scott on the regular.”

Derek didn’t have an answer to that, apparently, and turned to look around the living room, eyes pausing at the wide entrance separating them from the kitchen. They both knew the others hadn’t walked out of the kitchen yet, either because they actually wanted to give them privacy, or because they were too busy being nosey little sneaks.

Stiles had his money on the second option.

Before Stiles could call them out on their bullshit, twisting his back to stretch, he noticed Derek watching him carefully. “What, man? I showered at Erica’s when she did my hair so I know I don’t still smell like ass.”

Derek looked carefully, eyes looking down at the shirt that Stiles was still wearing before recognition appeared to dawn on his face.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Stiles complained. “You cannot be serious right now.” He started to walk away, heading towards the kitchen where everyone had suddenly gotten much more quiet than before. He stopped, sparing one more look at Derek, “You do not get to make a big deal about something as stupid as sharing shirts.”

“Stiles—” Derek started, but Stiles continued walking away.

“Nope,” He said, leaning against the door frame to the kitchen and narrowing his eyes at the pack as they not-so-subtly stood close together. “Traitors, all of you.”

Erica was the first to look up, sighing, “Do you want me to—”

“Oh, hell no. I was told there’d be pizza and movies. I am getting my pizza and movies.” He grinned wide, “Just know that I am onto your asses.”

Stiles watched his friends let out a breath he hadn’t realize they’d be holding. Scott clapped him on the shoulder before moving to the oven where a couple pizzas had apparently been cooking. Isaac was talking about what movie they wanted to watch, whereas Boyd was arguing that they should try and finish their marathon of Marvel films first. Erica leaned over, hugging Stiles tight.

“Thanks for not running,” she said softly.

Stiles shrugged, “Do this shit again and I don’t make any promises.” She rolled her eyes when Stiles stuck his tongue out at her, but grinned before moving away.

Stiles was finally figuring that even if Derek was going to be an emotionally stunted idiot, he should still get to have fun with the others.

Maybe then they’d stop trying to collude against him.

\--

They were pretty far into a second film when Stiles felt his phone buzzing. It was nearing midnight and he opened the messages from Dean, asking if he needed a knight in shining leather to come save the day. Stiles laughed at the thought before typing back: _nah its actually going ok. Ill get a ride back soon_

Dean sent over a couple thumbs-up emojis in response.

Stiles looked up after pocketing his phone, realizing Erica and Boyd had fallen asleep against each other, with Scott and Allison in a similar situation. Stiles remembered Lydia had left at the end of the first movie, which was around the same time Isaac had wandered upstairs, probably to go find an actual bed.

The only other person awake was Derek.

“They planned this,” Stiles argued, standing up and walking out onto the porch. Derek followed behind him, closing the door softly behind them.

“I don’t think they all collectively decided to fall asleep at the same time, Stiles.” Derek retorted.

“Fine.” Stiles crossed his arms, “Doesn’t mean I like it any better. Drive me back?”

Derek nodded, pulling his keys out of his pocket as they walked towards his camaro. Stiles knew better than to question a guy and his connection to his car, months on the road with Dean had at least taught him that much, but he was surprisingly happy to see that Derek had kept the car, even after upgrading to an SUV back during high school. He thought back to some of the soccer mom jokes he had ribbed Derek with, grinning at the memory.

They had made it out of the preserve when Derek started, “Stiles—” Derek paused, waiting to see if Stiles would interrupt him again. Silence met him. “I’m sorry.”

Derek was not expecting Stiles to laugh.

The guy looked to be near damn hysterics.

“Are you trying to be a comedian, Derek?” Stiles finally said, laughter dying off and glaring at Derek with renewed passion. “Because that was one sick fucking joke.”

Derek glared back, hands tightening on the wheel. “I am sorry, Stiles.”

“For what, exactly?” Stiles leaning back. “I’m dying to hear you say it.”

Stiles watched Derek, thinking the guy almost looked like he was in pain at Stiles’ request, but he didn’t give a damn—he was an alpha werewolf, if emotions were this painful for him, he was going to need to get the hell over it.

“I’m _sorry_ , for pushing you away.” Derek said.

“Uh huh.” Stiles remarked, looking out the window before back at Derek. “That it?”

“And I’m sorry for not talking to you like an actual adult.”

“Oh, good, so you remember that you are supposed to be the adult, here, right? And that I was also an adult when shit hit the fan?” Stiles added. “Looking back, I probably would have kicked my ass out too, because desperation is not a good look, but shit, man.” Stiles sighed. “You didn’t have to lead me on for years and then completely ghost me.”

Derek was quiet, breathing evening out as they sat in relative silence. “I tried—”

“Sending me weird ass books is not having a conversation.” Stiles countered easily.

“I know that now,” Derek retorted.

“What are you even trying to get out of this, now, anyway?” Stiles questioned. At the look Derek gave him, he rolled his eyes. “Please, it doesn’t take being a wolf to know you think I’m hot and have jealousy issues.” Before Derek could answer, Stiles continued, “I’m not settling down. I like being on the road, getting to be this nameless drummer who floats from city to city. It’s the best adrenaline high since running from wolves in the woods with you guys, and it’s a helluva lot safer, too.”

Derek was pulling into the motel parking lot, putting the car in park before he responded, pointedly looking at the brick wall in front of them. “Get to know each other.”

“What?”

“I can’t undo the last four years, and I doubt either of us wants to go back to the beginning to _redo_ anything,” At Stiles’ laugh, Derek turned to look at him, small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “But while you’re here, I want to try and get to know you again.”

“You were one of my best friends,” Stiles admitted. “You didn’t even say goodbye when we left for school.”

“I know,” Derek conceded, “Lydia’s yelled at me enough for it. Practically everyone has had a word with me about it.”

“I can’t make any promises,” Stiles added. At Derek’s questioning gaze, he shrugged, “You were the only guy I actually thought being in a relationship could work with. I haven’t had much practice doing the whole, _getting to know you_ parts.”

“But Crowley—”

“Is a kick ass performer and friend.” Stiles nodded.

“Do you fuck all of your friends?” Derek asked harshly.

“Clearly not.” Stiles shot back, “You’re not going to shame me for the shit I do. Or did. Whatever. You want to get to know me, and what I’ve been doing since I left? That’s going to be part of it, so keep your jealousy on lockdown.”

Derek surprisingly nodded. “You’re right.”

“Damn straight, I am.” Stiles grinned. He leaned over, planting a kiss on Derek’s cheek, just as he had with Erica and Boyd and the countless he shared with Dean, Cas and Sam over the years. It was friendly, but he felt Derek inhale quickly when he did it, unlike the others ever had. With a wink, he climbed out of the camaro and into the motel room.

\--

Turns out, Stiles was the only one shocked about the recent developments between him and Derek. Dean had practically thrown him over the bar when Stiles mentioned he was going to hang back and wait for Derek to close up after their second night back at Jungle, yelling at him to finally _nut up and ride that dick_. Castiel and Gabriel had to pull Dean away before he actually try to go through with it.

Erica and him restarted their snap streak, with Erica rolling her eyes in her response when Stiles sent her a snap of the living room at Derek’s, the corner of their alpha’s head in the bottom frame of the photo. Lydia messaged him: _told you to try being nice. surprise: it worked_

Even Scott started talking about pack things with him again. Stiles had questioned him, asking why he had stopped back during freshman year and Scott’s response was not what Stiles had been expecting. Everyone figured out something had happened between him and Derek, and thought bringing wolf-related things up was going to _upset him_. He didn’t want to hide things from him, but according to Scott he was worried if he brought it up too much, Stiles would stop answering.

Stiles happily called Scott an idiot to his face.

By their fourth night in Beacon Hills, Stiles agreed to go back to the house with Derek for the second time, but only under the condition that he’d drop him back off before they fell asleep. They had just finished their Wednesday night set and had three shows lined up in Portland before they’d come back Sunday afternoon. Derek complained they were running around like kids in high school, to which Stiles fired back that they _could’ve_ been doing that if someone hadn’t kept a huge stick up his ass for damn near a decade. Besides, Stiles wasn’t the only one working nonstop. Derek was apparently the head bartender at Jungle and only got the one night off because he all-but-forced another guy to switch with him. Stiles had tried to see if Derek would be interested in seeing them in the Portland scene, but was quickly shot down when Derek explained he had to be there for Friday _boogie nights_ and the drag shows on Saturday.

Stiles knew it wasn’t going to be easy, exploring this thing with Derek, and for now it was just good fun, but Stiles knew not to fall too deep like he had the first time around. They were hitting the road soon, anyway. It wasn’t like him and Derek had professed some undying love or shit—Stiles hadn’t done it before and he wasn’t about to start now. But their attempts at talking, really getting to know who they had become in the years of silence, quickly dissolved into them making out with little to no words actually shared.

The first time it happened, Stiles woke to lazy kisses from Derek, him dotting the line where his shoulders connect with his neck, only to remember he hadn’t told the guys where’d he’d gone off to and, judging by how lit up the room was, they were going to have to meet up sooner than later before their final night in town for the week.

Stiles loved watching Derek’s face light up in surprise when Stiles pushed him back, finally getting to block Derek against the wall like he had dealt with years prior. Part of him knew Derek was easily letting him do it, that he could choose to flip them at any second, but that knowledge only made Stiles grin even more sharply. Derek was willingly trusting Stiles to take lead, which only amped Stiles up more.

Derek would always stop them when things got heated, never letting it move beyond _heavy_ petting, when they would stumble behind the bar, or into the camaro, or into his home after the gig had ended. Stiles whined every time, pushing off of Derek, or climbing out of his lap, when Derek would do it, but the logical part of him agreed.

He was leaving. He wasn’t sticking around, and Derek didn’t want to just fuck and split.

He grumbled about Derek having better morals than him when he would flop down to sit next to him, glaring when Derek smirked in response but didn’t back down. He knew Derek was turned on, _hell_ he saw it and felt it, but he let the guy give himself blue balls.

Stiles, on the other hand, was a grown adult and decided he did not have to deal with it like Derek was, and would easily stand up and go finish what they’d started either in the shower or in Derek’s bed while he waited for him to join. He knew he was toeing the line, teasing Derek in a way that always got him a dark look in response, but Derek hadn’t tried to talk about it.

And really, Derek should’ve known that would just tempt him further.

\--

Their first night in Oregon ended in Stiles back in the motel before the others, Gabriel having found a cute girl from the show to go home with and Dean and Cas still not back from whichever party they stumbled upon. Stiles grinned, grabbing his phone before stepping into the bathroom. He let the shower run, the small room quickly steaming up while he swiped across his screen to unlock it. Stiles hadn’t messaged Derek since the night of the body shots at Lydia’s, but he still had the app on his phone. Stiles smirked as he turned his front facing camera on, biting his lower lip as he saw his reflection in the screen, the steam and his naked chest apparent.

He sent it to Derek before hopping in the shower.

By the time he was out, towel wrapped around his waist, he checked to see that Derek had opened the snapchat. He had one missed call.

Stiles leaned against the sink while he called Derek back, noticing the missed call happened less than ten minutes ago.

“You’re horrible,” Derek bit out. Stiles could hear him driving.

“How was the club?” Stiles asked cheekily.

“I’m covered in glitter.” Derek remarked. “What about you?”

“Well,” Stiles looked down at himself, “I’m not covered in anything right now.”

“ _Ass_ ,” Derek bit out. Stiles bit his lip to keep from audibly laughing, hearing the sound of Derek parking and entering his home through the line.

“It’s nice to know you miss me,” Stiles mused. “Too bad you didn’t let me blow you before you dropped me off last night,” Stiles hummed over the line, “Could’ve at least left you with _something_ to remember me by.”

Stiles could swear he heard Derek going up the steps to his room, the soft click of the door shutting over the line. He lazily touched himself, the towel he had used to dry off pooled at his feet. When Derek didn’t respond right away, Stiles spoke up again, “Tell me what you’re doing, Derek.”

“Stiles,” Derek bit out, only causing Stiles to grin wider. “Safe to say I’m _only_ wearing glitter now.”

“ _Sparkly dick_ ,” Stiles cooed with a short laugh, “Would probably need you to blow me, then, while I got you cleaned up.”

“Fuck, Stiles,”

Stiles grinned, listening to Derek fall apart over the phone, hearing him touching himself while he did the same. Stiles egged Derek on, getting him to comment more about what he wanted to do, how it would feel, and Stiles could almost imagine he was the one there having Derek under his fingertips.

By the time they had finished, Stiles could hear Derek’s ragged breathing over the line.

“Sleep tight,” Stiles called out, ending the call. He cleaned up with the towel he had used, pulling bottoms on just as Dean and Cas stumbled through the front door. When they noticed the flush still apparent on his torso, Dean gave him a high five and a wink before falling into their own bed.

\--

Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was actually okay with the sudden addition of phone sex, but he hadn’t complained, or hung up on Stiles, every time he called after getting back from their sets the rest of the time they were in Oregon. By the sounds of things, he was getting off just as much as Stiles from it, anyway.

Late into Saturday night, Derek had (finally) sent Stiles a photo back when they ended the call, and it took everything in him not to try and screenshot and save the picture of Derek’s chest, the white strips of come drying on his lower half. Stiles quickly took a forward facing photo, his hand tugging at his hair, biting his lip, his face honestly frozen after seeing what Derek had sent him.

Derek send a text shortly after, a quick: _goodnight stiles_

\--

Before they had played their last show for the weekend, Castiel and Gabriel had taken Stiles into the city to finally pick up his own vape pen and cartridges. Cas had waved off his thanks, stating his own when he got to tuck his pen away back into his own pocket.

They had been back in Beacon Hills long enough to grab lunch and get dressed in the motel and Stiles, on one hand, wanted to try and see Derek before they had to head out, but he also vehemently did not want to run off to go see some _guy_ when he was hanging out with his friends. Besides, Jess had messaged him saying they were less than an hour out.

Stiles realized he couldn’t tug at his hair after he finishing spiking it up, tapping his foot incessantly while he surrounded his eyes in the signature smudged liner look. By the third pace he did around the small room, Gabriel shoved him towards the bathroom, pushing the wooden box of rolled joints into his hands, “And don’t come out until you’ve jerked off at least once and hot boxed the damn room!”

They all laughed, but Stiles knew his fidgeting and need to move was grating on them. He flicked through different social apps on his phone before he finally lit the end of one of the joints, taking a deep hit. For all the care Cas took into making sure they didn’t get blitzed before a gig, Gabriel had a knack for always finding strains that would get you fucked up before you realized it and then it was too late. At least he was able to make those joints last longer, only taking two hits before he stubbed the end out.

Stiles had snapped a photo of his face, joint tucked into the corner of his mouth as he took the second drag, eyes already half lidded. He typed out the caption: _ive been put in timeout_ before sending it off to Erica and Derek.

Erica had snapped a photo of the ceiling at work, with the text: _damn watch out smoky_

Derek had opened the message, but it took a couple more minutes before he replied, a photo of his reflection from the mirrors behind the bar at Jungle. No caption, but Stiles felt his body grow warm at the sight of Derek in his tight fitted clothes. For all he said about Stiles thrashing around on stage, stripping out of his clothes as needed, he sure had room to talk. Stiles wasn’t complaining, though; he enjoyed the view.

Stiles looked up when Sam pushed the bathroom door open, standing up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the tub, smiling wide when he realized who it was. “You made it!” Stiles yelled.

“And you’re _toasted_.” Sam remarked, standing back before turning in the open door to look back at Gabriel.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sam” Gabe rolled his eyes, “You’re not the one sharing a bed with the kid.”

Stiles ignored the two, pushing past to give Jess a hug. “You’ve made us into stars,” he mumbled against her hair.

Jess laughed, shaking her head, “That’s all you guys.” She sat back against the bed next to where Stiles had left his bag open. “June’s almost completely booked up.”

“No shit,” Dean added, “Which way we headed next?”

“You’re going to head east along the southern border. Back to the larger venues in San Fran and Phoenix first; the owners heard about what was going on up here and pretty much demanded first dibs on getting you guys back. There’s a one-off show in Sante Fe, but then you’re heading down to Austin. Benny’ll join you guys in Baton Rouge, where you’ll be for about two weeks again.” Jess looked up from the itinerary she had started planning on her phone, “From there it’s pretty simple, staying along the coast while you make your way up through New Jersey.”

“Have I told you lately that I love you,” Dean crooned, grabbing both sides of Jess’s face to plan a kiss on her forehead.

“I’m starting to connect the dots for the return ride back west, but that won’t start until after Labor Day.” Jess added, grinning back at Dean, laughing at the eyeroll Sam sent his way. She turned back to Stiles, “I’m going to meet with your friend Isaac before tonight’s show, too. I’m already mocking up some new flyers with what he collected last time and have some ideas for what he can capture next.”

Stiles knew they looked good, the new flyers that Jess was working on, as she had sent an early copy of one to Jungle to as they got ready for their last week in town. The club had plastered them on their socials and around the bar. Derek had sent a photo of the flyer hanging by the bathrooms the other night, and Stiles honestly thought they were some of Jess’s best work.

“I’ll be doing as much as I can from home,” Jess added, “but after you guys wrap up here, Sam and I are going to head back home.”

“Hot shot future-lawyer can’t hang,” Gabriel shook his head forlornly while Dean pulled his brother in a hug.

“I figured you could take over most of the social media work, though, and the local contacts,” Jess said, looking up at Stiles. “We can map it out more later, if you want.”

“That’d be awesome,” Stiles nodded. He knew while Sam was getting focusing in on law, Jess was starting some other gigs of her own that would actually pay. After the first year, all the guys had agreed Jess should cut herself a percent from what they made, but she had always waved them off, saying it was giving her experience. She really did start to make a name for herself, though, and was getting calls to help other groups looking to hire her to set them up just like she had for the _pansies_. Her working on managing other groups meant less time for the social work.

A perfect opening for Stiles.


	5. Epilogue

_Epilogue_

Out of the last 365 days, Stiles was sure they had spent at least 300 of them playing shows.

By the time the summer was ending, Jess was fully managing four bands in total, including the _pansies_ , which left Stiles to completely run their socials and local marketing. Him and Jess had calls at least every other week to review the impacts on their online presence and after gigs, tracking venues which would have a high likelihood of having them come back, if they didn’t ask for them first. On the off chance he wasn’t driving, Gabriel behind the wheel, or on a rare day off, Stiles spent the time drafting different marketing proposals, demonstrating what kind of packages they could do with venues to assist in their promotion of the gigs for an additional fee on top of their regular contract, with evidence of what the expected turnaround in revenue could be expected to be.

The band was fucking _thriving_ , and so was Stiles. Stiles joked that they might have to retire the _Paranormal_ part of their name, seeing as how Dean hadn’t had the time to go on a hunt in over a year. The guy had messed his hair up in retaliation, reminding Stiles that you never actually leave the life, but they all understood the sentiment.

The free-bird, roaming, vagabond lifestyle Dean and Cas had started the band to help capture was quickly evolving into something much bigger than either had anticipated, and neither had plans of slowing down anytime soon.

Being on the road for a year without breaks wasn’t without its own problems, tension between the guys popping up as easily as it went away. By the time they had confirmed their fall shows, Gabriel had let them know he was going to be unavailable until the winter time. Stiles knew this was his usual routine, but it still put them in a jam while Stiles reached out to all of Dean and Cas’s previous contacts. They could do a show with just the three of them but if they could get more acts in on the set, it would be worth it.

Crowley ended up joining when they swung through the Midwest and out towards Seattle. Stiles knew Derek was upset about the idea, and he frequently reminded him this was his job, usually hanging up the phone with a terse _get the fuck over it_ before hopping back behind his drumkit. Rather than heading down towards Portland, they went back to the Midwest, picking up gigs in plenty of towns who had only heard their name before. Surprisingly, more of them were successes than failures, compared to the last time they had first-time shows in new towns.

They played through the holidays, starting the winter in Baton Rouge with Benny, getting him to agree to stay on for a couple shows in Florida and Georgia before they went back to Austin. Gabriel had joined them again, moving back out west with them while they made their usual stops in Phoenix. Their San Francisco contact wanted them back before the New Year, which meant they all got to ring in the holiday with Sam and Jess.

Stiles would say the biggest surprise of the holiday was Derek driving down to celebrate with them, but Sam proposing to Jess took the cake.

With no time off to hang for more than a couple days in Sam and Jess’s apartment, Derek headed back to Beacon Hills while they played some shows down by Los Angeles. Gabriel was out again, and they had some random players rotate for the next few months. By the time they made it back to Las Vegas, Stiles reminded Dean about the last time they had a gig in town, and not _everything_ stays in Vegas, like being arrested for propositioning an officer.

Thankfully, they made it out of Sin City without having to pay anyone’s bail.

They drove back and forth between Colorado, Arizona and New Mexico until the seasons turned warmer, gearing up to return to Beacon Hills in May for a repeat of the residency they had done the first time around.

They were unpacking, back in the same motel they had been in the last time they played at Jungle, when Stiles looked over at Dean and Castiel. “I think we need to call Meg.” They both paused what they were doing; Stiles hadn’t mentioned needing a replacement since before graduating.

“It’s been a helluva year,” Dean added.

“I still want to do the socials and the marketing,” Stiles quickly added, “but I think taking time out like I did back in school might be good.”

“We understand, Stiles,” Cas smiled.

“You’re the first person to actually make it a whole year on tour with us,” Dean looked over to Cas for confirmation, who nodded. “We never expected you to stay on and never take a break.”

“Thanks guys,” Stiles grinned. “I’ll call Jess so we can plan it out. Between Meg and Benny, we should be able to work it out so you don’t miss out on any of the gigs.” He pulled out his phone, pressing on Jess’s name to make the call.

\--

“Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” Stiles asked from where he sat on the couch in Derek’s living room, neck twisted from where he was leaning against Derek to look at his face. Before Derek could answer, he continued, “Honestly, it’s more like, good news and neutral news, but you probably consider it bad news.”

Derek stared, waiting for Stiles to stop before smiling, “Good news first”

“You’re such a sap,” Stiles nudged him with his shoulder, “I’m only playing the Beacon Hills gigs this month, and am talking to Jess more tonight to confirm with Meg’s schedule how long she can take over for. Might be through June or early July.”

“Really?” Derek asked, sitting up. “That’s a lot of time to be off.” He wasn’t saying it was a bad thing, Stiles could tell he was excited, but they both knew how much being on the road meant to Stiles—they fought about it enough.

“I’m still doing the socials and marketing,” Stiles added, “And after how well the year’s been, we’re going to start actually paying me and Jess for the work.” Derek grinned back at Stiles’ excitement.

“What’s the bad news?”

“Remember, you’re the only one who would probably call it _bad_ , but,” Stiles looked at Derek, “Crowley’s playing the gigs with us this month. Gabriel’s not able to come out until June.”

Stiles could feel Derek tense from where they sat close.

“I know he’s your friend,” Derek said, and Stiles sighed. This was how most of their fights about being on the road, and being on the road with any of Stiles’ past hook ups, started. “And I trust you.”

When Derek didn’t push further, Stiles leaned back against the arm of the couch, watching him cautiously, “That’s it? No yelling? Shouting? Arguing?” He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, “Who are you and what have you done with my Derek?”

Derek grinned, “ _My Derek_?” When Stiles shoved against his shoulder, he laughed. “You just told me you’re staying in town and planning to cut down on the time spent on the road. I’m not arguing with you.”

“Well damn.” Stiles pulled out his phone, “I had a whole outline for the points I was going to make. Can I at least read them to you? Some of these were really good.”

Derek huffed, smiling as he watched Stiles pull up the document. “Go ahead.”

\--

John wanted to throw a party.

An actual party for his twenty-three-year-old son.

“It’s not like I was off at war,” Stiles grumbled to his dad, crossing his arms. They were in their family home, with Derek standing behind one of the dining room chairs, watching as the two went back and forth.

“No, you’re just finally returning home after five years.” John argued, “That’s longer than a tour in the Army.”

“You still saw me! You came to Palo Alto, and I was here last May, too.” Stiles rolled his eyes, “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“I’m going to tell Lydia and Erica, they’ll throw you a party,” John grinned, “And then you’ll have to go because they’re your _friends_.”

Stiles looked over at Derek, “You’re just going to stand there and let him do this?”

Derek’s smile matched the Sheriff’s, “Don’t look at me, I’m looking forward to it.”

“Traitors! Conspirators!” Stiles shouted as he walked out of the room.

John looked up at Derek with a smaller smile this time, “You brought him home.”

Derek shook his head, “Stiles came back on his own.”

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me at tumblr @beyourownsavior
> 
> (Btw, The title is a Sex Pistols reference, in case you missed it. My partner is the reason I have any knowledge of touring musicians, as a traveling guitarist/bassist, and helped me give this story a name when it was finally finished at 2am after nearly 3-days of uninterrupted writing.)


End file.
